


and i would walk 500 miles

by goldplate (ramshackleheads)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Future Fic, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Healthy Relationships, Light Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Marriage, Minor Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei, Parenthood, Post-Canon, Single Dad Miya Osamu, Very Minor Bokuto Koutarou/Miya Atsumu, Weddings, like if you squint lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:20:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29082276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramshackleheads/pseuds/goldplate
Summary: "It’s hard to make friends as an adult, ya know! So this is a special occasion for me, running into ya and everything earlier this week and inviting you here. I only really cook for Atsumu when he’s home, and for my daughter. But those two are hardly a tough crowd, they’ll eat anything. You looked like a challenge.”A challenge, huh?Then Akaashi’s mind backtracks a bit.Something about a daughter. Wait, a daughter?
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 28
Kudos: 249





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> very self indulgent, literally wrote this in two days because i couldn't resist single dad osamu. title from the proclaimers, "i'm gonna be (500 miles)" – i listened to it a lot while writing it! i think it sets the mood for this fic a lot. 
> 
> enjoy!
> 
> (unbeta'd, and mostly unedited so ignore if you find any mistakes)

Akaashi isn’t sure who spots who first.

(Years later, when recounting the story to friends, Osamu will swear it was him who first took notice of the familiar profile at the end of the spice aisle – albeit now with longer hair and glasses – pondering over what brand of panko to get. But Akaashi will shake his head passionately, claiming, no no no, Samu, but I was the one who said hi first, you see.)

“Miya... san?” Akaashi asks now, a bit unsure, turning his head ever so slightly to the left. He’s decided on the more expensive brand. It’s like the stoplight in his head goes red, then yellow, then finally green at the recognition at the sort-of familiar face and broad shoulders. The man in question is clutching a grocery basket full of… stuff. It’s a lot. It looks heavy.

“Hello,” Osamu replies, the end peaking like a question, studying the other man’s face. It’s a nice face, a handsome and smooth face, and it’s a bit embarrassing how deep he needs to dig to come up with a name. He’s always been a bit slow and forgetful with–

“Akaashi. It’s Akaashi, uh, Keiji. High school volleyball.”

“Ah!” the taller man exclaims and grins. The light blinks bright green in his own head. “Fukurodani setter!”

“Yeah. That’s me.”

Osamu takes the heavy basket in his other hand, shifting his weight to his other foot. Akaashi steals a glance at the man’s thick forearms, flexing with the weight of his groceries. The shorter man almost suggests that Osamu put down the basket, but this is more than okay too. His eyes remember to flit up, and their steady gazes meet.

“So, ya come here often?” Osamu asks with a friendly smirk. He’s immediately charming in a cool way (not in the potent way Kuroo and Bokuto are, but just as efficacious), in a way that sneaks up on you suddenly right around the time you realize, oh. He’s handsome. Very handsome, in a bit of a rugged, salt of the earth type of way. But hey – this isn’t really anything new. Akaashi falls in love with strangers all the time to pass the time, on the train, in passing on the crosswalk, and now apparently, in the spice aisle of the newly-opened grocery store that’s opened just a minute or two away from his studio apartment. And Akaashi likes all types of handsomes.

He drops the bag of panko into his own basket, and squats down to pretend to intently scrutinize the nutritional value of turmeric. Let’s see: 29 calories, 0.91 grams of protein, 2.1 grams of fiber in one tablespoon… Akaashi hopes Osamu can’t see the heat creeping up his neck. “I just moved here, actually. Well, more like I got assigned here by my bosses. I’m an editor, I work for a sports magazine. And apparently this is their version of a promotion.”

“Hey, hey, Hyogo’s a lot of fun, especially Kobe. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, city boy,” Osamu laughs.

“Just takes getting used to I guess,” Akaashi relents. “Born, raised, educated, and employed in Tokyo, so it figures.”

To keep up the act, he drops the little bottle of turmeric into his basket, too. Sigh. Another unexpected expense, all because of this stupidly attractive – and _broad_ , wow – high school acquaintance that accosted him on this fine day. He isn’t sure if they’ve ever talked, not even back when they used to play volleyball in their teens. Crossed paths, sure, it was hard not to especially at tournaments and nationals. This is an… odd reminder of a past life, where he himself also once had forearms he could boast about. But it’s not as unwelcome as Akaashi thought it would’ve been.

“Do you still run that restaurant? That was you right? One thing to look forward to about the city, I suppose,” Akaashi says, unfolding himself to stand back up. Osamu’s face lights up like it’s New Year’s Eve.

“You betcha – Onigiri Miya! Tell ya what. Swing by – here, gimme yer number so I can text ya the address –” and Akaashi does, without thinking – “and I’ll whip up something for you for dinner whenever yer free this week. On the house, too! It’s good to have a friend in a new city, dontcha think?”

The shorter man can’t help but let out an amused, pleased laugh. Free dinner’s a free dinner, and he’s not about to say no to that. “Sure, Miya-san. I’m counting on it.”

“Osamu, you can call me Osamu. But only if I can call ya Keiji.”

To most people, the editor is known as Akaashi, Akaashi-san, Akaashi-kun. Even in his own head he thinks of himself as Akaashi. But the _Keiji_ falls off Osamu’s tongue like music, like Akaashi’s new favorite song. He wouldn’t mind hearing it again.

“Osamu, then. I’ll wait for your text.”

* * *

Akaashi’s week goes by normally with little fanfare, just like they always did in Tokyo. His tasks include: looking over the pitches of the more junior writers in his department, pitching his own stuff, writing a bit, giving the green (or red) light for relevant events to cover, and deciding which staffers to assign to those. His writers are competent and talented and show initiative, so he doesn’t really have any complaints. Except this isn’t Tokyo, and the most exciting part of his day is getting a little bit lost on his way back home, in very slightly different ways everyday. Yesterday, he took a left turn too early, and before he knew it it was too confusing to retrace his steps. Which is saying a lot, because _all_ these streets are a bit unfamiliar, so he still has to use twice his brainpower to remember what his _actual_ street looks like. The day before, he dozed off on the train and accidentally got off two stations too late. But today, he gets it right the first time.

This is the kind mundanity he had strived for, the kind of career he had convinced his parents was worth it. And now he’s here. Akaashi supposes things could’ve worked out way, way worse for him. Look, he’s even getting sent places (even if Osaka or Nagoya or Kyoto were admittedly higher on his personal list of preferences). And now he has a dinner date – well, just _dinner_ if he’s honest with himself – with a good-looking, down to earth acquaintance that he had noticed actually smells really good up close… that he honestly hasn’t thought of since high school. He hasn’t thought of high school in a very long time. And even then, he never really _thought_ of Osamu. They just kind of knew of each other. Until now.

But Akaashi feels pretty giddy about it, nonetheless. He knows the onigiri in the Family Mart he frequents won’t be able to candle to Onigiri Miya.

Osamu had texted him earlier that week with the address and a helpful picture of the storefront, then later with directions after the editor sheepishly admitted he had no clue where that was. Google Maps, Schmoogle Maps; Akaashi is going to squeeze this dry, thank you very much! Besides, the dastardly app has led him astray one too many times in the past, and he’s not going to allow it to lead him astray now, in these crucial moments.

They agree to meet that Friday, at seven. It gives Akaashi enough time to swing by his apartment to freshen up. He even treats himself to hailing a taxi, instead of subjecting himself to rejoining the evening rush of commuters.

“Akaashi-san, you’re heading home early!” Kenji, one of his junior writers exclaims, his shaggy box blonde hair barely peeking over the stack of magazines that act as a separator between their desks. Well, in this case, ‘early’ means ‘on time’. Despite having only been here for barely a month, Akaashi’s already gained the reputation of not packing up until the eleventh hour, even on happy days like Fridays.

“Oho! Maybe he has a date,” Minori, another editor, teases from the end of their table. She’s packing up her own stuff with one hand retouching her eyeliner in another. “It’s a Friday after all, I know _I_ do.”

Another junior writer and Akaashi’s seatmate, Shion, pipes in enthusiastically. “We’re rooting for you Akaashi-san!”

Buttoning up his cardigan, Akaashi huffs. “I don’t have a date. Just meeting with an old acquaintance.”

Despite his slight aloofness and strictness, his colleagues seem to like him just fine. Things could be worse.

The night outside is a bit chilly and he silently thanks himself for deciding to take a cab. He spots the faint, warm glow of Onigiri Miya down the block, and asks the driver to slow down.

It’s a quaint little spot, rustic and a bit worn. Not like one of those trendy and shiny over decorated places that always seemed to pop up everyday in Tokyo. Akaashi likes it.

Osamu’s wiping up the tables when Akaashi walks in through the heavy door. The place is empty – just the two of them. He spots his set dinner already sitting on the counter.

“Hello,” they greet each other at the same time.

“Do you usually close up this early? It’s a Friday,” Akaashi says, still standing a bit dumbly by the entrance, having noticed all the other restaurants and cafes down the street are packed.

“Closed it up just for us,” Osamu grins. “I promised you dinner didn’t I?”

“Business must be going well then,” the editor smiles, snapping out of it and hanging his cardigan on the hook by the door. It’s pretty warm inside. “Do you treat all your ‘acquaintances’ to a personal, solo dinner, Osamu?”

At least the taller man has the sense to blush slightly and roll his eyes. “My mother taught us to be hospitable.”

On the table, there’s onigiri of course. According to Osamu, three different kinds, actually: salmon roe, pickled plum, and tuna mayo. They’re shaped into neat, chubby triangles, and they look actually perfect. Akaashi doesn’t know how he’ll go back to convenience store onigiri without getting withdrawal symptoms. They’re placed on a stylish ceramic rectangular plate, one of those artisan ones glazed brownish green. To his right there’s white miso soup, lightly salted edamame, and to his left, nanohana no karashiae.

“That’s my favorite!” Akaashi gasps, snapping his head up to Osamu who’s pouring them some sake.

“Which part?”

“The nanohana no karashiae.”

Osamu laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Well, lucky guess. Just thought about what would pair well.”

Akaashi takes a seat by the counter in front of his dinner. It’s a lot, and it’s a lot fancier than he expected. He reaches into his pocket for his phone so he can immortalize it in a photo. The taller man places a cup of warm sake by him.

“It’s nice to cook, sometimes,” Osamu says as he takes his own seat next to Akaashi. The editor nods to indicate that he’s listening, while taking greedy bites of the onigiri. Yup, definitely won’t be able to go back to the convenience store versions. “We don’t really serve stuff like this, the miso soup and all. It’s all mostly rice balls, and the customers love it, don’t get me wrong. But it’s nice to do something different for a change.”

Akaashi swallows down his bite and takes a sip of the sake. “So you _don’t_ do this often, then.”

“Well, not really. It’s hard to make friends as an adult, ya know! So this is a special occasion for me, running into ya and everything earlier this week and inviting you here. I only really cook for Atsumu when he’s home, and for my daughter. But those two are hardly a tough crowd, they’ll eat anything. You looked like a challenge.”

A challenge, huh?

Then Akaashi’s mind backtracks a bit.

Something about a daughter.

Wait, a daughter?

He turns to Osamu. “You have a daughter?”

“DAD!”

Hina bursts through the back door (well, more of a curtain), waving her chubby little arms in the air. “Dad!” she shouts, again.

“Speak of the devil,” Osamu chuckles, getting up from his seat to crouch down and open his arms for a hug. “Come here, baby girl. Say hi to Keiji! Keiji, this is Hina.”

Hina is probably the cutest little girl Akaashi has ever seen in his life. She’s no more than three, probably just a little over two, with how she still stumbles over her own feet. Her round head is covered in dark brown hair similar to her dad’s, her bangs falling over her little forehead, and a neat ponytail sits a bit lopsided at the back. Akaashi’s never really been good at discerning whether or not a baby looks like their parents (they all kind of look like babies to him), but Hina’s features strikingly mirror Osamu’s: the large, dark, somewhat deep set eyes, thick eyebrows, and short straight nose. She got her dad’s handsomeness.

“Kei...ji, Keiji, hi!” she blabbers, now hugging her dad. “I’m Hina.”

“Hello, Hina,” Akaashi says with a soft smile, pausing his dinner to also bend down to pat her head. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice ta meet ya!” She’s even developed a bit of a twang like her dad, and Akaashi has to make a Herculean effort not to crumple on the ground, clutching his chest at the sheer cuteness.

“Hey you,” Osamu says gently, still hugging Hina tight. “Didn’t I leave ya in the back in yer crib to sleep? Why’re ya out here?”

Hina pouts a bit, her chubby cheeks puffing out. “Am too big for the crib, Dad.”

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we? We can look for a new bed for my little girl this weekend at the shops.”

Akaashi does a little bit of math in his head while watching the adorable scene. He and Osamu were in the same year in high school, which means they’re probably around the same age. He’s twenty five, and minus three give or take, that would’ve made Osamu around twenty two or maybe even twenty one when Hina was born. A bit young to be a dad, but Akaashi’s not one to judge. The two of them seem happy.

“She seems like such a good girl. Really cute too,” Akaashi says, going back to his dinner. It’s still a bit warm, thank goodness. “A bit late, but congratulations to you and your wife.”

“Oh, ah–”

“Dad is my Mommy, too!” Hina exclaims with glee and affection, wiggling her way out of Osamu’s hug. She makes a valiant effort to climb up onto the bar stools, but her dad catches her before she falls.

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked, or assumed in the first place. Akaashi backtracks clumsily: “Ah, I’m so sorry. Shouldn’t have pried.”

Osamu shrugs, hauling his daughter onto his lap as he once again takes a seat next to the editor. “‘S fine. Was never married to Hina’s mom, actually. We were both kinda young and careless and she wasn’t ready to be a parent. Things are amicable enough but she keeps her distance. Since then it’s been just me and my little girl.”

“Ah.”

“It’s not a sore topic, don’t worry about it!” the taller man chuckles. “Here, more sake.”

“Sakie,” Hina mumbles.

“None for you, Miss,” Osamu shakes his head. “Maybe in fifteen– no. Twenty years. Okay?”

His… rare nefarious side, a part of himself that Akaashi is able to stamp down for the most part on most days, rejoices that Osamu is very, very single. Admittedly, he had wilted a bit when Hina burst through the door. It’s not like he has intentions to pursue anything, though. Akaashi is the reigning heavyweight champion of Not Pursuing Things. Osamu is a full time dad and restaurant owner, responsible and mature and on top of things, and _perfect,_ and Akaashi is a barely functioning adult with a sleep schedule that’s out of whack. 

Osamu was right. Making friends as an adult is damn hard. Especially when said friend is Osamu Miya, who has the possibly the cutest daughter in the world. But Akaashi can do this. He can do ‘friends’.

* * *

“He’s a dad?!” Both Kuroo and Bokuto exclaim over their weekly video call, at the same time.

“Yes.”

“A single dad?” Bokuto asks.

“Yes, I just said.”

“A _single_ dad!” Kuroo shouts, way too loudly. His emphasis on the _single_ is infuriating. “Single!”

“Kuroo…” Akaashi sighs and takes another sip of his beer. These are his two oldest friends, ones he’s known for years, and he’s pretty sure he knows what they’re going to say next:  
  


“Are you gonna fuck him?” they say, again, at the same time.

“I am _not_ going to fuck him! What is wrong with you two!”

Bokuto laughs, in the carefree and crazy way he always does. “What’s wrong with fucking Osamu?”

Kuroo concurs, and nods his head solemnly. “Just because he’s a dad – a _single_ dad – doesn’t mean he’s a saint or a celibate. I’m sure he wants some too.”

“You do know it’s a bit more complicated than that,” Akaashi grouses. “He has a daughter. I doubt he wants someone to just casually flit in and out of his and his daughter’s life. I mean, unlike the three of us, Osamu is an actual adult with adult problems and adult responsibilities.”

“I would like to remind you, Akaashi, that all three of us here on this call have jobs, pay taxes, and are able to fend for ourselves. That’s plenty adult, thank you very much!” Kuroo declares, teasingly. “But really, ‘Kash. You know me and Kou are just teasing. We’re happy you have someone familiar in the city.”

“Yeah,” agrees Bokuto. “Free dinner too!”

“Thanks, you guys,” Akaashi says with a small smile. “He’s really kind, and he even told me to swing by the shop whenever I’m free.”

“Will you?”

The editor flushes, and looks away from the camera a bit. “Yeah, this Friday again. But it’ll just be regular store hours. The free dinner was just a one time thing.”

Kuroo clears his throat dramatically. “Okay, but, look. Just in case you two find yourself alone again, maybe after a bit too much sake, preferably far away from his daughter, I have some surefire moves to–”

Bokuto does a spit take and struggles to swallow down his own beer. “Dude!”

Akaashi sighs again, for the millionth time. “Kuroo. I swear to God.”

* * *

He finds himself at Onigiri Miya at the end of this week. Then the next week. Then the next, and the next, and the next, until it’s become his routine. He no longer gets lost, and no longer needs to take a cab. In fact, he’s figured out a pretty efficient route from his office to there.

His relationship, er– friendship with Osamu is a simple, generous thing. The man is easy to get along with, and finds Akaashi’s bluntness amusing instead of intimidating or rude.

Akaashi swiftly develops a full-blown crush on the man in these months. But ‘crush’ seems like a word highschoolers would use to describe something flimsy and fleeting. He prefers the word ‘infatuation’, or ‘admiration’: a feeling that isn’t crazy but instead heavy like a warm weighted blanket. His reservations about his presence in their lives shed quickly with how well they all seem to fit together; not quite a family – Akaashi isn’t deep in this enough to call it as something as serious as _that_. They haven’t actually breached the ‘just friends’ barrier, he constantly reminds himself. But it’s something steady and natural, like something that had just been waiting for him to arrive.

And Hina, like her father, is an absolute angel. A month or two in this little routine of his, he learns that she’s to start school in a few months. That after daycare Dad picks her up and she has her own corner in the restaurant’s backroom with a small bed and some toys and books, where she stays until the restaurant closes for the night. That her favorite onigiri is just the plain salted one, but she likes it the most when her dad cooks both of them fluffy omurice on the weekend. She’s a talkative little girl, which is really the only departure in similarities between her and Osamu, who’s a bit more taciturn and reserved. Hina always has energy, and if it were any other kid Akaashi would find it exhausting, but with her it’s just fine.

On some evenings, he doesn’t even feel the need to order onigiri, but of course Osamu insists. Akaashi feels full just watching Hina do her darndest to help her dad wipe up the countertops and mop the floor after all the customers have cleared out by ten. He’s actually surprised Hina’s still up at this hour, and Osamu sighs and says he’s tried for years to get her to sleep earlier and has since given up.

Her little sandals stomp across the wet floor, the spots that Osamu had just mopped clean. Her footprints are a bit muddy.

“Hina, what did I tell you?” the taller man groans, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Don’t step on the spots that Dad just mopped up or we’ll be here forever.”

She doesn’t really seem to understand what he means, so she just stands there, bewildered. But she gets that she made some kind of mistake. “Sowwy. Daaad.”

Osamu leans over to pinch her rosy cheek. “Baby, it’s okay. Here let me–”

Akaashi gets up from the stool, finishing the last of his water. “No, Osamu, you finish mopping. I’ll take care of her.”

Now, the editor’s strength has definitely waned since his volleyball days, but he has just enough in him to scoop up Hina and place her on his lap while Osamu continues to clean up for the night. She settles in just fine and Akaashi lets her play with his fingers.

“Don’t you have staff to help you with this kind of stuff?”

“I do,” Osamu says, looking at Akaashi for a bit. “But I guess I prefer to do this kinda stuff myself. It’s therapeutic in a way, ya know?”

Akaashi kind of understands. He does stuff like this too, at his own job; stuff he’s not actually meant to do as someone in his position but does anyways just because he can. Like continuing the gargantuan task of arranging the shelf of the magazine’s past issues in chronological order (a job for office management), going on coffee runs for his writers (a job for whatever poor intern they’ve saddled this task with), personally bringing up tech and network issues his team has to IT (a job for office management, again. Akaashi thinks they really need to get their act together).

He does these things because it feels nice to be present, and to be diligent.

“Our high school volleyball captain Kita – who provides most of the rice we use here by the way, so thank him – used to tell us a lot about routine, and something about how who we are now is just the result of the little things we do everyday, the little things we work at. Or, at least something like that. I guess I really took it to heart, and now that I have all this stuff I need to take care of I can appreciate what he meant.”

“That’s a really nice sentiment.”

Osamu smiles but doesn’t look up from the shiny floor. “It is. And I guess things are kinda different too, since I have to set a good example for Hina, ya know?”  
  
“That’s me!” Hina giggles, pointing to herself.

“I can’t imagine. I mean, I don’t want to sound rude but… we’re the same age and I can’t imagine having another person to worry about, much less raise and provide for,” Akaashi sighs. “How do you even do it?”

“I just do it,” the taller man says, rinsing the mop and putting it away. He hops up onto the counter to sit on it to wait for the floor to dry up. “Never really had the chance to think about not doin’ it. I know that sounds like I’m oversimplifying, but that’s really it. It’s all thanks to her.” He reaches out and strokes his daughter’s smooth hair. She’s beginning to doze off in Akaashi’s arms, finally. Her cheek presses against his heart like a mochi.

“You’ve done a great job, I think,” Akaashi says softly to not wake her quiet slumber. “I don’t really know much about kids – I didn’t have any siblings growing up – but she’s so well behaved and happy. Like an angel, really. I think she takes after you a lot.”

Osamu smirks and narrows his eyes. Without thinking, he reaches out to Akaashi now, and strokes his more unruly hair back. It’s playful… and flirtatious, the editor dares to think. “Yer callin’ me an angel, Keiji? Now, I dunno what got ya thinkin’ that I’m some kind of saint, but…”

Akaashi’s traitorous mind is reminded of Bokuto and Kuroo’s words some months ago on one of their video calls. _Just because he’s a dad – a single dad – doesn’t mean he’s a saint or a celibate. I’m sure he wants some too._ Now isn’t the time, he scolds himself.

“You know what I mean,” the shorter man huffs as Osamu pulls back his hand. But he can’t really hide his amused smile. “I’m sure you know you’re really kind, and patient, and thoughtful and understanding. I feel that Hina is the same, or at least will grow up to be the same way. I don’t think you could call a lot of kids ‘patient’”.

“Yer killin’ me with these compliments, Keiji!”

“I’m afraid your head will grow too big so I’ll stop there.”

“Oh, c’mon. Just fer that I’ll make you another personal dinner, on the house again of course.”

Akaashi quirks an eyebrow up, in an attempt to look like he’s shrugging it off when all his mind is chanting is _yes, yes, yes, please, I’ve been wanting that for months._ “You think I’m that easy, Osamu?”

“Didn’t I tell ya? I like challenges.”

Now if this isn’t flirting, Akaashi doesn’t know what is. This isn’t something that friends do, right? God, he’ll need to consult Bokuto and Kuroo about this, and he already dreads the _I told you so_ s that they’ll undoubtedly throw his way.

Hina, thankfully, breaks the muggy sexual tension in the air with a sleepy yawn and a few muffled mumbles. And Osamu is back to Dad Mode (which, in Akaashi’s opinion, is just as earth-scorchingly attractive, but don’t tell anyone he thinks that).

“Baby, you wanna go home?” he asks his daughter, leaning down. “C’mon, let’s go.”

He takes Hina from Akaashi’s lap and throws her over his broad shoulder like a little potato sack. She stays asleep, and both men laugh a bit.

“Keiji, could ya switch off the lights there? I’ll just double check if I’ve locked everything up out back.”

“Sure thing.”

Akaashi walks with Osamu and Hina back to their little apartment, which is just a ten minute walk away from Onigiri Miya. It’s in a quiet and peaceful neighborhood. Both of them are silent save for Hina’s occasional sleep talking, enjoying the stillness and coolness of the night. So Akaashi tries to walk as slowly as he can to prolong those ten minutes.

He’s a bit antsy. He’s had his fair share of relationships in the past, so he’s not completely dense. Something in the way Osamu carries himself and something about his still yet alert expression signals to Akaashi to stay on his toes. This is how things happen right? They’ll probably kiss chastely once they arrive at Osamu’s and Hina’s doorstep, with the taller man’s large and calloused hand stroking Akaashi’s jaw gently as their chapped lips meet.

The teasing, and the flirting, and the way Osamu stroked Akaashi’s hair back in a way that was probably way too affectionate to be just a joke between friends. It’s simple arithmetic. Or maybe wishful thinking. Whatever. 

They arrive at the apartment complex eleven minutes later. The shorter man accompanies the other two all the way up the stairs to the front of their door. Hina is still sound asleep.

“Well, sorry to keep you out this late, Keiji,” Osamu chuckles. “I didn’t even realize how late it was.”

“It’s not a problem, Osamu,” Akaashi says, suddenly all formal and clammy. “I enjoy spending time with Hina. And with, uh. You too of course.”

They both pause awkwardly. The editor counts the seconds: one, two, three, four…

Nothing. Ah. Oh well.

“Goodnight then. I’ll see you and Hina next week again? Tell her I said goodnight.” He begins to turn away to head his own way home, the disappointment slumping his shoulders a bit.

But then Osamu takes a half step forward and places a firm hand on Akaashi’s shoulder, effectively spinning him around.

“O… samu?”

“Ah!” the taller man exclaims, seemingly startled by his own action, too. “I. Uh, Keiji?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

_Can we kiss?_ Kuroo’s and Bokuto’s (and his own) voices sing in his head, like a sorry excuse for a Greek chorus. _Yesyesyesyesyesyes_ , Akaashi answers himself.

“Go ahead.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to but…”

Akaashi rolls his eyes sarcastically, as if he isn’t ready to lean forward himself and be done with it already. “Out with it, Osamu.”

“It’s Hina’s birthday in a week, and I was wondering if you wanted to, uh. Come celebrate with us. Just the three of us, here at home.”

The shorter man doesn’t know if his heart drops or soars, because while it wasn’t the kiss he was gunning for, this might be just as good. “Just the three of us?”

“She’ll have her own party with her friends at daycare the day before, but I also wanted to have a small party that’s just family. I’ll cook and everything, and even make the cake.”

Family?

“Family?” Akaashi asks, taken aback.

“Sorry, if that was too forward. Ah, dammit, forget what I said. I’m sorry Keiji,” Osamu chuckles, a bit dejectedly. “But Hina really really loves you, Keiji. She’d kill me if you weren’t there.”

_Family…_

Akaashi shakes his head, his chin wobbling a bit. “No, Osamu. It’s perfect. I’ll be there, you can count on it.”

* * *

A nasty storm hits Kobe the day of Hina’s birthday at their place, but Akaashi will be damned if he doesn't make it.

He zips up his raincoat over his inner raincoat, arms himself with an umbrella and boots, and braves the storm. His gift for Hina – a collection of storybooks for young kids – sits snugly in his backpack, which is thankfully waterproof.

_Are you sure it’s okay for you to head here?_ Osamu had texted. _We can always reschedule when the weather’s better, Hina wouldn’t mind_. But Akaashi is already out the door and hiking up the train station’s stairs when his phone buzzes in his bag. On a whim he picks up a little box of cream puffs from a bakery in the station, figuring that keeping the box safe and dry is a problem for future Akaashi to solve.

Of course, he arrives at their apartment door drenched. Completely drenched. A small miracle, though: he managed to keep Hina’s box of cream puffs dry by tucking it underneath his two raincoats (which proved to not be as excessive as he once thought.

“Oh, Keiji, I feel fucki– really awful,” Osamu groans, catching himself on the swear word because Hina’s by his feet, gazing up at a wet Akaashi standing in their doorway. “You might get sick. I really should’ve rescheduled. C’mon, I’ll run ya a bath while I set up the food.”

Akaashi nods gratefully and lets the other man take his coats, the rainwater dripping all over the floor. Osamu tosses him a towel so he can dry up his face and hair.

“Hey, little girl,” the editor kneels down. On any other day he would’ve been furious, absolutely pissed off at rain for soaking through his clothes and his hair. But today, he can’t really bring himself to care because Hina is looking up at him with her wide brown eyes, the same shade as her father’s, wearing a poofy bright yellow dress with bumblebees decorating the skirt. Her brown hair is done up in two high pigtails, a bit uneven and lopsided. “Happy birthday.”

Hina squeals and tackles Akaashi into a tight hug, uncaring about the state of his dress, in her own unpretentious and unadulterated way. “Hey, hey, I’m all wet Hina!” he laughs.

“You’re here! Even if it’s raining!” she yelps, squishing his cheeks together between her own squishy hands.

“I promised your Dad that I’d be here.”

“Dad almost made you stay home.”

He hugs her again, tightly, apologizing in advance to Osamu for getting her cute dress all damp. “Well, sometimes it’s okay to not listen to Dad.”

Hina pulls back and her eyes light up. “Really?!”

Osamu chooses that moment to walk in on them. Just one look and he places his hand on his hip and sighs. “Hina, now we have to change your dress. We spent all morning picking out one. And you!” he shifts his gaze to the shorter man. “I thought you were the responsible one, but here you are ruining my perfect daughter’s outfit. Yer lucky you’re so perfect yerself too, because your bath is all ready.”

Akaashi flushes.

“First door on the left,” Osamu sings with a glint in his eyes, picking up Hina to go change, leaving Akaashi standing there alone with a towel draped over his head like an dumb, lovestruck idiot.

* * *

How is Osamu real?

Laid out on the table is a whole feast, really: in the center there’s a single burner with a large pot of sukiyaki, an offensively large platter of different kinds of tempura, three whole servings of katsu curry, and of course nanohana no karashiae. And that’s just the dining table. On the small kitchen counter sits a homemade strawberry shortcake with perfectly smooth icing, along with the box of cream puffs Akaashi brought.

“This is so much,” Akaashi says, taking everything in. “You did _all_ this?!”

Osamu and Hina are already sitting attentively at the dining table, just waiting for Akaashi to take his seat. He’s wearing some clothes lent by the other man, while he waits for his clothes to be done in the washer-dryer.

“I like cooking,” he remarks simply. “It’s not everyday that I get to cook for more than two people.”

“You literally own a restaurant.”

“It’s not the same!”

Hina pulls Akaashi to sit next to her, so he does. She’s wearing a new dress, and it’s just as cute as her last one; baby blue with a white petticoat and a cloud motif across the torso. “Look at my dress,” she commands.

“You look very beautiful, Hina.”

She grins widely, showing off the gaps in her teeth.

Their late lunch goes swimmingly, and against all odds, they pretty much finish the food. Akaashi is floored by how big Hina’s appetite is because she’s practically still a baby in his eyes, eating spoonful after spoonful of curry and sukiyaki. Well, he supposes if he had Osamu to cook for him regularly he’d be the same.

He helps them put away the dirty plates so they can bring the desserts over to the main table. The little girl is bursting with excitement, and Osamu whispers to him that this is her first family birthday with a guest. Akaashi smiles a bit wistfully as the taller man lights the four tall candles on her strawberry cake. They’ve arranged the cream puffs to sit in a circle around the cake; Hina’s eyes are practically sparkling when the candles are lit.

“I can take the video,” Akaashi volunteers, taking out his phone. “Go on, Osamu, stand next to Hina over there so we can start singing.”

Osamu crosses his arms and shakes his head. “Nuh-uh, Keiji. None of that. Prop the phone up there on the shelf and join us here.”

“But–”

“Keeeeeeiiiijiiii!” Hina squeals. It’s not humanly possible to say no to both her and her dad looking at him expectantly with their stupidly large, round eyes.

“Fine. Let me just find a good angle.”

With Hina standing on the chair and both men holding her arms so she doesn’t stumble over head first into the cake that Osamu had slaved over, they start to sing. A bit off key and off tempo (that’s mostly Akaashi’s fault and he’s ready to admit it), but nobody’s complaining.

“Happy birthday dear Hinaaaaa…”

“Happy birthday to you!”

The little girl blows all four of her candles out in one go.

“Didya make a wish?” her dad asks, conspiratorially.

“Sure did,” she grins.

Osamu gasps, scandalized. “Well, let’s hear it then!”

Both Akaashi and Hina laugh. “Dad, it won’t come true if I tell ya.”

The editor whispers, “It’s okay, if you whisper it to Keiji it’ll be fine.”

Hina blushes and leans over to cup her mouth with her hands over Akaashi’s ear. Osamu pouts a bit and huffs, dramatically.

“I wished,” she whispers. “that you can stay with me and Dad for a long, long, loooong time.”

And just like that, he’s tearing up like he’s the baby between the two of them. Akaashi hugs her tight and whispers back, “if he’ll let me I will.”

“What are you two whispering about,” Osamu whines, still pouting.

Akaashi releases Hina from their embrace and steps forward to stand closer to the other man. He puts both hands on his shoulders and says solemnly. “That’s between me and Hina, and me and Hina only.”

“You two are traitors, I tell ya! After I cooked you this whole feast!”

* * *

The storm doesn’t let up, and Akaashi nervously keeps glancing between the weather updates on the news app on his phone, and the window. The heavy raindrops have been pelting against the building the whole afternoon, and it seems like it’s getting windier by the hour. There’s no way he can make it to the station in one piece, and there’s no way he’ll be able to hail a taxi, either.

It’s a small blessing that it’s a Saturday, so he doesn’t have to worry about being stranded at his office building for this. But even so, he feels like he’s pretty much overstayed his welcome because he can tell Osamu is struggling to come up with something to do. Like a teenager on his first date, Akaashi thinks amusedly but tamps the thought down.

Hina fell asleep a few minutes after eating her slice of cake, still in her dress. They didn’t even get to open gifts, so Akaashi just placed the books by her bed for when she woke up. As much as Osamu didn’t want his daughter to go to sleep on an empty stomach, he let it go only because it was her birthday. He successfully changes her out of her dress and into her pajamas, tucking her in like an expert dad, all without waking her.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Osamu suggests, now. “I have Netflix. Unless you’d prefer to keep an eye on the evening news.”

The storm doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, so Akaashi sighs. “Netflix is fine. Sorry I have to wait this out here.”

“You can stay as long as ya like, Keiji. I promise.”

“Thanks for letting me use your washer dryer, too, by the way. I think my clothes should be all good now, you’re a lifesaver, really.”

Osamu smiles and nudges him. “No, you’re the lifesaver. This is the happiest I’ve seen Hina in a while.”

They sit in silence while they pick the movie. The taller man has the remote, and scrolls through the long list, with Akaashi grunting in refusal in almost every one. They eventually settle on some kind of cooking or food documentary, narrated by a man in a calm, lilting voice.

There are artful shots of vibrant spices being dried and processed, and fresh vegetables being cut. On a normal day, this kind of entertainment would’ve enamoured Akaashi and would’ve monopolized all his attention. But instead, he can only seem to focus on being enamoured by the perfect man sitting only inches away, beside him.

He can’t even remember the name of the documentary, for God’s sake.

_Constructing a perfect fermentation room is a technical task. A clay pot alone is not enough to get things done._

Akaashi stares intently at the old Chinese lady on screen bunching together bundles of hay.

_Frying the eggplant in hot oil can elevate its lusciousness and chewiness._

“That interesting, huh?” Osamu teases, quietly. When did he get so close?

“Huh?”

“The documentary.”

Akaashi turns to look at the other man, then down to the virtually nonexistent space between them. “Uh. Y-yeah.”

He looks back at the screen.

_The pork has been fermented for four seasons. Boiling it in a pot of hot soup will give you the aroma of mellowness._

Akaashi inches himself closer, inconspicuously.

“Here, you can lean against me,” whispers Osamu, almost straight into his ear. It sends a shock right up his spine and heat pools below his stomach, like a horny teenager with a _crush._

Osamu is… soft. His chest is so broad but it feels like a pillow. Akaashi leans back, like it’s not a big deal at all, no not at all! ... and lets the other man’s arm fall around his shoulder with his thumb lightly tracing the spot where his earlobe meets his neck.

“That looks delicious,” Osamu mumbles lowly, and the shorter man can feel the rumble in his chest as he says it.

Like Akaashi knows what’s going on onscreen anymore. He’s lost the plot ages ago.

It gets a bit uncomfortable, the way he’s leaning back but also making an effort to keep some space between them. His back protests, and then his awkward position relaxes fully against Osamu’s chest.

“This okay?”

“Yeah. More than okay.”

The narration begins to sounds like garbled gibberish.

“Can I kiss you, Keiji?”

Oh _God_. 

“I want to say yes,” Akaashi mumbles, now facing the other man, staring intently at his lips. Their faces are just a few inches apart. “But I don’t want to complicate things.”

Osamu’s eyebrows bunch together. “What’s there to complicate?”

“You know. You and Hina.”

“Yer talking as if this is just some one night stand, Keiji, like I’ll kick ya out first thing tomorrow.”

Akaashi gulps and looks away for a millisecond, guilty. “So this isn’t complicated?”

“I’m a serious man, Keiji,” he whispers, leaning in. “I don’t do _complicated_.”

“I’m a serious man, too, Osamu. That puts us on the same page.”

The taller man smiles, and wraps his arms around Akaashi’s waist sensually. “Then kiss me.”

So he dives in, and their teeth clack together clumsily. Akaashi almost pulls back to apologize, but Osamu makes up for it by tilting his head and licking his way into the other man’s warm mouth.

He pushes the taller man down onto the couch, documentary be damned. Below him, Osamu grunts in discomfort, positioning Akaashi on top of him properly. It’s almost effortless; he’s so strong.

“You’re sure she won’t wake up and walk in on us?” the editor can’t help but ask, taking off his glasses.

“Knocked out cold,” Osamu reassures him. “Besides, we’ll hear the door creak open. Good thing I’ve been putting off having those hinges looked at.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Akaashi leans down to kiss him again, aggressively, and the other man’s strong arms pull him down and keep him down. The sound of the strong rain and howling wind outside was stressing him out earlier, but now it’s perfect white noise for a make out session.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but suddenly both of them are without their shirts and he’s grinding down on Osamu’s muscular thigh.

“Bedroom,” the taller man groans, pushing Akaashi off gently. “It’s just over there. Don’t worry, walls are surprisingly thick.”

“Okay, okay,” he agrees, because of course he does. He picks up his glasses from the floor. “Let me just, uh. Go to the bathroom.”

Osamu steals another kiss, then another, then another, but eventually lets Akaashi go. “Make it quick, Keiji.”

Akaashi quickly stumbles into the bathroom and inspects himself in the mirror. He looks a mess: disheveled hair, pink and bitten lips, and what looks like a hickey blossoming at the base of his neck. Turtlenecks to work now, he decides.

He digs his phone out of his pants, which are still on, by some act of God. He scrolls through his contacts and immediately hits call on his most recent group chat.

“I’m gonna fuck him,” Akaashi declares quietly into the speaker when both Kuroo and Bokuto pick up. “I’m at his place, in his bathroom, and I’m about to fuck him.”

“That’s my boy!” Kuroo hoots. Bokuto hollers along with him.

“It was his daughter’s birthday, and he invited me to her family party, which was really just the three of us. But I got stormed in, we started making out on the couch while watching some documentary.”

“That’s a classic move,” Bokuto whistles, impressed. “Where’d you learn that one?”

But Kuroo is busy losing his shit in the background. “You are one _nasty_ fucker, ‘Kashi. On his own daughter’s birthday! Have some shame!” he pretends to scold.

“His daughter is _asleep_. And I’m pretty sure she knows I’m into her dad,” Akaashi shoots back.

“Hmm. Smart kid. I’d love to meet her sometime.”

“Well, I have to go. I just needed to let that out,” he says, psyching himself up. “Wish me luck.”

* * *

  
Akaashi thanks every god above out there that Osamu was right: the walls _are_ thick.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: i dont know how magazine publishing works but that’s half the fun of making shit up

Thankfully, when they wake up the next morning (Akaashi buried under the covers with his head slotted under Osamu’s jaw), the skies are clear. He wasn’t, er, present enough to notice when it had stopped.

Hina’s already knocking incessantly at the door, whining about how hungry she is.

“Poor baby,” Osamu calls out. “I’ll be out in a minute, ‘kay?”

Akaashi groans and buries himself deeper into the thick duvet. God, is this thing weighted? He thinks it is. “What time is it.”

“Almost eight,” the other man mumbles, kissing Akaashi’s temple, then his forehead.

“Are you serious? On a Saturday?” Maybe he and Osamu won’t be compatible after all.

Laughing, the taller man hauls himself out of bed. He’s gloriously naked, so he stumbles over to his dresser to pull on a fresh pair of underwear, sweats, and a shirt. The view is nice.

“Hina’s an early riser, and so am I. ‘S always been that way.”

“Euggghhh.”

He stays in bed a bit more, half-asleep listening to the dad and his daughter puttering about in the kitchen. He hears the blender going off, some oil sizzling, and the microwave ding. The soft lull of the morning news also fills the air as background noise. The bed smells like sweat and like Osamu, and Akaashi buries his nose into the pillow. It helps him drift back to sleep.

He hears soft footsteps getting closer, but he’s not sure if he’s dreaming it up.

“Keiji. Pancakes.”

He’s gently shaken awake by the little girl, who’s standing right by the bedside table in her matching pajamas. Akaashi unglues his eye open to take a peep at the clock. An hour or so has passed, and it’s a slightly more acceptable time to be up on a Saturday morning. But still not an hour he would ever voluntarily get up at on his own.

“Keiiijiiii,” she continues to pester, poking his forehead with a chubby finger.

“I’m up, Hina. Just let me prepare, okay?” he requests, his voice scratchy. “Tell your dad I’ll be out in a minute.”

She chirps an okay! and bounces out the door towards the kitchen.

He’s glad he remembered he was as naked as the day he was born under the sheets before agreeing to get up to join them to eat.

* * *

It’s just the two of them cleaning up the dishes by the small sink, while Hina lies on the couch, cooing over the books Akaashi gave for her birthday. They’re both up to their forearms in soap suds.

Breakfast was just like a repeat of the day before, with both dad and daughter already sitting at the small dining table with an ungodly amount of food laid out. Where did these two put it away, even?

This time: pancakes, scrambled egg, miso soup, bacon, and some leftover Chinese fried rice and veggies from a few days ago. It was a bit of a weird combination, but it smelled amazing so Akaashi didn’t dare complain at all. To add to it, Osamu had pushed an ice cold glass of barley tea and a hot mug of coffee towards him with a fond smile.

“Where do you get the energy to cook like this?” he can’t help but wonder out loud, now, standing next to the man in the cramped kitchen.

“From seeing people eat,” the taller man chuckles, putting another dirty plate under the running tap. “It just feels nice to do it for other people.”

Akaashi hums a little and dries up his hands to take on the task of wiping the dishes on the dishrack dry. He feels a bit sore from their activities from the night before, especially in his hips and legs. It had been a few dry months for him. It was the same for Osamu too, apparently, who in the middle of taking off his pants admitted he hadn’t been with anyone since he and his then-girlfriend split up right after Hina was born.

“Four years, then?” Akaashi had asked the night before, lying on his back on the soft bed. He watched Osamu shimmy off his khakis, and his eyes traced the trail of thick hair leading underneath the strap of his underwear. Which was sitting provocatively low on his prominent hips, his Adonis belt accentuated. Akaashi couldn’t wait to pull it down and follow that trail with his tongue.

Kneeling on the bed and caging his partner underneath him, Osamu shrugged. “Yeah, more or less. Haven’t really had the time, and it wasn’t a priority of mine.”

Ah. Adulthood. Back in college Akaashi did have his own rather… hedonistic phase, as one does. But things significantly slowed down after he graduated, after he got a real job, after he got more serious priorities. He hadn’t even realized it had been so long since he’d been last touched.

“What’s changed, now?”

“We’re about to have sex, and you’re asking me this?”

Akaashi reached up and framed the sharp jaw of the man above him with his soft hands. “Humor me? I’m just making sure.”

Osamu gave him a long, deep kiss, then looked into Akaashi’s darkened eyes. He was silent for a few seconds, searching. “Well, I really like you. There’s that. And Hina likes you too.”

“We’ve only known each other a few months. What if–”

“Hey, hey. Don’t overthink this. We can talk tomorrow morning, but I’m about to give ya the best sex of your goddamn life, Keiji. We both want this right?” the taller man whispers, roughly.

Well. When he put it like that… Akaashi’s thoughts evaporated immediately.

Now, in the kitchen, Osamu bumps his hip against the other man’s, playfully. It jolts the editor out of his thoughts about the night before. He hadn’t realized he had just been standing there with the dish rag in his hands.

“Thinking about somethin’, Keiji?” the taller man smirks.

“Thinking about last night,” Akaashi admits.

“Oh?”

He shakes his head and blushes. “Not like that. I mean, I was thinking we could talk.”

They both sneak a glance at Hina, who has once again dozed off on the couch with her cheek squished against one of the throw pillows on the couch.

Osamu dries up his hands too, the small kitchen sink now clear and glistening. “C’mon, balcony then.”

* * *

“I really like you, Osamu,” Akaashi says, leaning against the railing. There are a few potted plants on the tiled floor, green and healthy. The view from their apartment isn’t really anything to write home about, just the usual suburban sprawl and electricity wires. “I enjoyed last night. But I just want to be sure about this, because I know it’s not just you that’s involved here, it’s Hina.”

Osamu pulls out a box of cigarettes and lighter hidden behind a dusty crate. He offers one to Akaashi, which he accepts graciously.

“I get ya. I know it’s not as simple as gettin’ together, because I’m a dad. I also don’t want random people comin’ in and out of our lives – Hina’s life especially.” The taller man leans against the railing too, on his forearms. He puffs out a cloud of smoke. “I feel that it’s more of somethin’ I need to ask of _you_ , rather somethin’ ya need to ask of me. I know yer not the type to, y’know, hit and run.”

Akaashi nods. “To be honest, I don’t think I’d make a great parent.”

“Yer gettin’ ahead of yerself. I mean, obviously Hina loves ya. I wouldn’t have let all this happen if you were someone who couldn’t get along with my own kid. Or if you were someone who just pretended she didn’t exist. She’s my priority, above everythin’. But I’m not askin’ ya to step in as a co-parent, like _tomorrow_ , just because I want things to be more serious between us,” Osamu says, sincerely. “I know you have yer own thing going on, with your job and life, so it wouldn’t be fair to expect you to take on that role overnight.”

“So you do want to, ah. How do I word this? Pursue a relationship with me?” the editor asks, twirling the cigarette between his long fingers.

“I do, Keiji. You’ve brought a lot of joy into mine and Hina’s life. But you can take all the time you want to think it over.”

Akaashi shakes his head, then inhales. “No, because then I’ll talk myself out of it, if I overthink it. Osamu, I do want to be with you, and with Hina. And you’re right – it wouldn’t be fair to myself either if I were to drop everything now to become a parent to her immediately. I like how things are, and I think she’s smart enough to understand a bit.”

“Oh, believe me, that kid is a genius. She keeps askin’ me when you’re comin’ over again and if I’ll cook ya somethin’ nice. I’m pretty sure she knows, even if she doesn’t have the words for it yet.” Osamu chuckles and taps some ash off his cigarette. “Things don’t need to change, at least yet. I just want us to be on the same page, relationship-wise, and make it official. But I do intend on keeping ya around, Keiji. I know ya said it’s only been a few months but I don’t see why we have to hold our breaths when I’m so sure about how I feel about ya already.”

The shorter man turns to face Osamu. He puts out his cigarette on the metal railing. “Well, okay then.”

“Okay?”

“Would you be my boyfriend, Osamu?” he asks straightforwardly. Then he grimaces. “God, I hate that word. It makes me feel like you’re some high school crush.”

The taller man laughs out loud, pulling Akaashi closer and pressing their foreheads together. “Yes, Keiji, I’ll be yer very adult grown-up boyfriend.”

“And for what it’s worth, I plan to stick around for a long time, too,” Akaashi mumbles and closes his eyes. Osamu steals a kiss; their mouths both taste a bit like smoke, which they’ll have to attempt to brush and gargle out before Hina wakes back up.

He thinks about the little girl’s birthday wish, the one she had whispered into his ear. But Akaashi is always one to keep promises, so he keeps his mouth shut and smiles at the fact that it was granted so soon.

* * *

Osamu was right: nothing much really changes, except the fact that everyday Akaashi wakes up to affectionate good morning texts everyday (one from Dad – straightforward and sweet, and one from Hina – full of nonsensical typos and animal emojis). He’s over at their apartment every week on Wednesdays now, and over at Onigiri Miya on Fridays, still. Sometimes Akaashi volunteers to cook when Osamu is too exhausted, even if his arsenal of recipes is way less impressive than his boyfriend’s. But they don’t seem to mind, and Hina cleans up her plate every time, as usual. Sometimes, Akaashi is surprised with flowers or freshly made onigiri at his desk at the office at random times on random days. On slow days at the shop, sometimes Osamu delivers it personally, and they sneak some kisses in the building’s lobby. His co-workers raise their eyebrows and tease, but thankfully they know better than to pry.

When time permits, they go on dates. Just the two of them, of course. Osamu drops Hina off with a nanny or with his mother for the weekend. It’s refreshing to just spend time alone together, because most of the time, Hina’s presence is a given. And not that that’s a problem, but there’s only so much you can do with a kid in tow.

Their favorite spots are the jazz bars and night markets for the evenings (maybe a love hotel later on if they’re feeling frisky… which is almost every time); parks and hole in the wall cafes for the daytime. Osamu shows him around Kobe, and sometimes they take day trips to Osaka and Kyoto, even.

Okay. So maybe a lot has changed. But the changes are almost unnoticeable because they’re so pleasant and so welcome. Akaashi barely registers the months and seasons passing because everyday has just been so wonderful.

It’s like Akaashi is floating. His boyfriend is perfect – but it’s not like he’s ever doubted that once ever since they met almost a year ago.

Hina had started school a month ago, and both of them took it upon themselves to take some time off on her first day. Osamu was of course a bit down and sentimental. He had wept into Akaashi’s shoulder on the couch, whining and laughing at the same time, going on about how Hina was growing up so fast, but also about how proud he was of his little girl. The shorter man shed some tears himself too.

Then, realizing they had the apartment to themselves for the rest of the morning, Akaashi pulled his boyfriend into the bedroom to take his mind off it, at least for a bit.

Of course, Osamu mostly gets over it soon enough, and sends his boyfriend a picture of Hina standing in their doorway in her little school uniform every morning. Akaashi saves every single one in a special album.

“You’re giving me baby fever, ‘Kashi,” Kuroo whines over their call, burying his face into his hands. “Please convince Tsukki, work your magic.”

“Tell him yourself!”

“I’ve been trying, okay? Should I just ask outright?!”

Akaashi is guilty of forwarding some of Hina’s cutest pictures to his group chat with Kuroo and Bokuto, because how can he not? He _has_ to rub it in. She’s the cutest little girl in the world, okay? Everyone needs to see it for themselves.

“You’re so lucky, Akaaaashi! You just bumped into him randomly at the grocery and now you have a perfect family. It’s like you entered a cheat code into, like, life or something!” Bokuto also whines.

Three grown men, cooing over how cute and precious Hina is almost every time they call. Akaashi never thought it’d end up like this, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He really misses them.

“Thanks for convincing me to fuck him,” Akaashi deadpans. “Really. He’s the best boyfriend in the world.”

“Movin’ up in the world so quickly, Akaashi. Sooner or later we’ll be at your perfect destination wedding or something,” Bokuto says. “God, every time I think of it I get so jealous! Spare some of what you have, will you?!”

They all laugh and do a virtual ‘cheers!’, tapping their beer bottles against their cameras.

Kuroo clears his throat, trying to be casual but failing. “Speaking of weddings.”

Both Bokuto and Akaashi quiet down, holding their breaths.

“We’ve decided on a date. It’ll just be a small ceremony, two months from now in Sendai,” the black haired man announces proudly. “Tsukki said he really wanted to have it back home, with just close friends. And even if I wanted a big one in Tokyo, with the whole city invited, I agreed! Maybe this is what growing up is like – Tsukishima Kei is turning me into an honest man.”

Bokuto makes a _whh-psshh_ sound, flicking his arm forward in the air. Kuroo sputters indignantly and Akaashi bursts into laughter.

“Kuroo, congratulations to you and Tsukishima,” the editor chuckles when they all quiet down a bit. “I’ll wait for the invite. Did you write down my Kobe address?”

“I got it right here! You guys will be the first ones to receive an invitation. You get to bring a plus one, too. Well, plus two in Akaashi’s case.”

Akaashi flushes, thinking about bringing Osamu and Hina to one of his closest friend’s weddings.

“Man, I get it, no need to rub it in!” Bokuto groans. “Goddammit, I’ll just end up bringing Atsumu again, he’s always my default plus one because he’s the easiest one to convince.”

Both Kuroo and Akaashi narrow their eyes, like they both know something that their spiky haired friend doesn’t.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Okay, Bokuto.”

“What?! No, seriously. What!”

* * *

The classy matte black envelope sits in his mailbox one warm summer morning a few weeks later, and he immediately fishes it out and excitedly (but carefully) unsticks the wax seal.

The invite came relatively quickly. Akaashi guesses they were able to expedite the whole process with Akiteru working for a stationery company, and all.

_Mr. Akaashi Keiji,_

_Kuroo Tetsuro and Tsukishima Kei request the pleasure of your company at their wedding_ , the minimalist script typeface reads. The invite itself is very subdued and sophisticated, and is no doubt Tsukishima’s doing. 

_We have reserved an extra two (2) seats for you._

Then, in a clear space underneath all the date and venue and attire details, there’s a little handwritten message from both Kuroo and Tsukishima.

_Bring Osamu and Hina!_ , Kuroo writes in his wide, blocky handwriting. Right below, in neater and round letters, _I hope to see you there, Akaashi-san._

He smiles to himself and tucks the invite under his arm, hitting call on Osamu’s contact with his other. It’s still early in the morning before Akaashi needs to be at work, but undoubtedly his boyfriend is already at Onigiri Miya getting ready for the lunch time rush.

It rings only three times before he picks up.

“Hi, babe. Mornin’,” he greets, a bit distracted. “Sorry, just looking over the books before the day starts.”

“It’s okay, Samu. Listen, are you free in two months, on the eleventh?”

Osamu pauses a bit. “Uh, I think so? It’s pretty far ahead. What day is that?”

“A Saturday.”

“Then, yeah. Don’t think I have anything planned. Why’d ya ask?”

Akaashi pulls the invite out again from under his arm. “Two of my best friends are getting married – I’ve told you about them, Kuroo and Tsukishima. It’s going to be in Sendai, and I can bring along two people.”

“So, Hina?” Osamu asks, hopeful.

“Yeah, she can come. They’ve been dying to meet her, really. I keep forwarding them some pictures you send me of her and they’re all in love with her.”

“Okay then! I’ll put it down. Two months from now, on the eleventh. Got it.”

Akaashi’s heart swells with affection, and he listens a bit to his boyfriend mumbling about numbers and columns, and to the sound of a pencil scratching across the paper. Before he can think about it, the words tumble out of his mouth. “I love you.”

The sound of the pencil pauses. Osamu hums. “Sorry, babe. Did ya say something? This stuff under the column I’m lookin’ at isn’t really adding up and I can’t figure out why…”

“I just said that I love you, is all.”

He hears a muffled thump on the other line; it sounds like a book dropping to the floor.

“Oh,” Osamu exhales. “I love you too, Keiji.” Then he laughs. “I literally dropped the book. God, I love you so much. That’s the first time we’ve told each other that, isn’t it?”

Akaashi smiles, not realizing he’s already running late for work.

* * *

Hina’s probably the most excited one amongst the three of them. She squeals and bounces off the walls when they tell her they’re going to a wedding, and that she needs to find a pretty dress for the occasion. It pains Akaashi to tell her that she won’t be able to wear her pastel pink dress with the bear or her light green dress with the polka dots for this occasion.

Their next month is spent window shopping for their outfits, and then realizing they actually need to shop. Their wedding’s color scheme is black, gray, and gold. Osamu had sheepishly admitted that the last suit he’d owned had been back in high school, and even then, it wasn’t really _his_. He had to share it with Atsumu.

So Akaashi takes him and Hina shopping. Between the publishing office and his apartment, there’s a decent looking department store, with a good combination of trendy stores and more down to earth brands. It’s not hard for them to spot a few that carry men’s formal wear.

“How’s this look?” Osamu asks, sliding the curtain of the dressing room open. They’ve picked out a no-frills gray linen suit jacket with matching slacks. Underneath is a black button up shirt.

Akaashi is sitting dutifully on the ottoman outside the booth, with Hina in his lap reading one of her favorite books. He _hmmms_. “Looks a bit tight. What do you think, baby?”

Hina looks up at her dad and gasps. “Dad! Looks silly.”

Osamu laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Tough crowd. But yeah, both the shirt and the jacket are a bit tight, especially around the shoulders. I’ll try the gold one next.”

The gold one looks even sillier. “Samu, don’t get me wrong. I think you’re handsome in everything, but I don’t think this is the one for you,” Akaashi giggles. “It’s too… uh. Flashy. You might outshine Kuroo.”

His boyfriend turns around and looks at himself in the mirror again. The fit is great and comfortable, but Akaashi is right – he kind of looks like a magician. The semi-glossy, gold finish of the suit jacket is a bit tacky, even if the rest of his outfit is black.

“This is way more difficult than I thought. I’m so used to wearing t-shirts and sweatshirts,” he says, from behind the curtain he just closed. “I’d never be able to do this myself because I’d just buy the first thing off the rack that looks like my size.”

“Which one are you trying next? This is the last one, right?” Akaashi asks from outside.

“Yeah, just the plain black tux.”

This is the dressiest one of all the ones they’ve chosen to try on; it’s a whole three pieces. He buttons up the pristine white shirt, the vest, and lastly the jacket. Osamu spins around to look at himself from the side, then decides to unbutton the jacket for a more relaxed look.

When he pulls the curtains back, Akaashi’s eyes widen. “That’s it.”

“This one? Ya think?”

“Yes, oh my God. It’s perfect, Samu! You look amazing.”

Hina bounces on Akaashi’s lap and claps her hands in agreement. Osamu blushes a bit.

“Wait, lemme take a few pictures?” he asks, before his boyfriend can pull the curtain closed again.

“Keiiijiii. Are you gonna send them to your friends again?”

Akaashi blushes guiltily. He’s been caught sending some candid shots he’s taken of Osamu to the group chat, just because. And the time his thumb slipped and carelessly forwarded a shirtless pic of his boyfriend – to Kuroo’s and Bokuto’s vexation – that was an accident, okay?! An accident!

(“Akaashi, you vixen! What will my Tsukki say when he sees a picture of another man, shirtless, on my phone?!”

“You idiot, it was a mistake, okay? Just delete it!”)

“Just one! So I can show Kuroo. The rest I’m keeping for myself,” he says, already opening up the camera app. “Okay, here. Three, two, one…”

Osamu flashes a grin at the camera, with his arms akimbo. It’s a bit awkward; he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Hina hops off his lap and runs to her dad, wanting to be a part of the picture.

Thankfully, Akaashi has a perfectly decent suit at home, so he doesn’t need to go through the whole hullabaloo of fitting again. Hina is also surprisingly easy to buy a dress for; they find a pretty knee length gold dress with a white petticoat. Akaashi even buys her black leather mary janes to match, handing his card to the cashier before Osamu can protest.

She spends a lot of time twirling around, begging to wear it already instead of the outfit she arrived in. Both men eventually relent, unable to resist her puppy dog eyes.

Akaashi falls even deeper in love, with both of them.

* * *

“Akaashi!” Kuroo shouts from across the garden. He waves like a maniac.

Their venue is perfect. It’s a garden wedding, with white flowers everywhere – in the bushes, scattered across the ground, and weaved into the wedding arch, chairs, and signposts. It’s around 4PM, with the ceremony to start in around an hour. Warm fairy lights illuminate the paths and the main area where the aisle is. 

There are only around twenty, maybe thirty seats framing the aisle, all draped in matte black fabric. A few guests are already seated, chatting with each other in sparse groups.

  
  


The atmosphere is extremely romantic, and Akaashi squeezes Osamu’s hand a bit tighter. Hina’s big eyes are fixated on the pretty fairy lights.

The raven haired man jogs towards them. He looks dashing in his black tux, almost similar to Osamu’s except Kuroo’s is buttoned up and has a gold rose on his chest, in lieu of a pocket square. “Akaashi,” he says again. “and Osamu, and Hina-chan! You’re even cuter in real life!”

“Hi! Thank you!” Hina says brightly, despite never having met Kuroo before. “Are ya getting married?”

“I sure am,” he grins, catlike. He looks up at the two men, standing hand in hand. He pulls Akaashi into a tight, tight hug, and Osamu into a firm handshake (which also evolves into a hug). “Nice to finally meet you, Osamu. Akaashi here talks about you non-stop.”

“Oh, is that so?” the taller man smirks. “Nice to meet you too, Tetsurou. Congratulations on everything, the place looks amazing.”

Kuroo laughs, his head tipping back. He looks absolutely elated, that Akaashi can’t help but feel it rub off on him. “It’s all Tsukki’s doing! He’s the master planner; he told me all I needed to do was show up, so here I am.”

“Unsurprising,” Akaashi teases, bumping his friend with his elbow.

“Hey! Oh– look!” His eyes flit to the side, where a few people are gathered near the entrance. Kuroo spots Tsukishima, Bokuto, and Atsumu talking. “Tsukki! It’s Akaashi and family! Come here!”

“Hey, hey, ‘Kashi!” yelps Bokuto, to the dismay of the other, older guests. “I missed you!”

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Osamu says seriously with a pout when his brother walks over with the other two.

Atsumu shrugs and steals another hors d'oeuvre from a passing waiter, ignoring the question. “Hina-chan! It’s your favorite uncle!” She practically jumps into the blonde’s arms, and he spins her around. He then turns to Akaashi and appraises him. “So, Keiji! We finally meet. When will you turn my brother into an honest man, too?”

The editor flushes and mumbles something indistinguishable. The whole group laughs, even Tsukishima. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to see each other before the ceremony,” Akaashi says, trying to steer the conversation in a separate direction.

Kuroo pulls Tsukishima closer by his waist and rests his head on the blonde’s shoulder. “Oh, me and Tsukki are just untraditional like that.”

While Atsumu and Osamu talk to the side with Hina, Akaashi finally finds the opportunity to catch up with his close friends in person, for the first time in a year.

“Congratulations, Kuroo, and Tsukishima,” he says, finally greeting them both. “I’m really so happy for the two of you, and I’m beyond happy I could make it today.”

“So formal, Akaashi,” Bokuto whistles, throwing his arm around his shoulders. “Nothing’s changed with you, huh?”

“Thank you, Akaashi-san,” Tsukishima beams. He’s glowing, and it suits him. He’s wearing a tuxedo not unlike Kuroo’s, also black and smart, accentuating his trim waist. In his chest pocket is a white rose, like the ones scattering the venue. “I hope the trip to Sendai wasn’t too much of a hassle.”

“No, Osamu was able to borrow his mother’s car, so we made a road trip out of it.”

Kuroo smiles, his head still resting on his soon-to-be husband’s shoulder. “You look really happy, ‘Kashi. It’s good to see you with Osamu – he seems like such a great guy. And Hina-chan is _so adorable_ , you weren’t kidding!”

Akaashi picks up a flute of champagne from a nearby waiter’s tray. He smiles. “I am. I really am happy with them. I never imagined myself, y’know. With a kid. But she’s perfect.”

Bokuto ruffles his wavy hair affectionately. “So Hyogo’s treating you well, huh?”

He nods and takes a sip, feeling the sharp, sweet liquid flow down his throat, cool like a summer’s day.

* * *

Even the reception is an open-air affair, and the weather is cooperative; the air cool and crisp.

The guests are getting increasingly drunker and drunker, shedding their shoes and heading for the dancefloor. 

Hina is at the little kid’s table, thankfully a good distance away from the drunk adults. Osamu and Akaashi regularly lean over to check up on her, but she’s given them no reason to worry or intervene. She seems to be getting along well with the other kids, making conversation and showing them the drawings she made with the crayons and paper the venue had provided.

Kuroo and Tsukishima are busy touring each table, catching up with all their guests. They can’t keep their hands and eyes off each other. Akaashi loses count of the number of times a random guest has tapped a spoon against their champagne glass, bolstering them to kiss.

Of course, they do it every time.

Osamu spots his brother with Bokuto on the dancefloor, both shoeless, sweaty and laughing. The DJ is playing some groovy disco song, and the two are extremely into it. Even from here, or rather, _especially_ from here, he can spot how close together they’re dancing.

The atmosphere is pleasant and romantic. It makes Akaashi feel carefree, like he can finally exhale, after focusing on work, work, work for so long. Their ad hoc road trip was also much needed; they drove through both country and city, stopping through Osaka, Nagoya, and Tokyo. It was Hina’s first time on a car ride that long, and naturally, it was a bit difficult to keep a kid her age relaxed at all times. Osamu and Akaashi took turns driving, with whoever the passenger was at the time sitting in the backseat with the little girl to read her stories or play road trip games.

Akaashi sighs happily, leaning against his boyfriend. He feels the champagne getting to him a little bit, making him woozy. Osamu wraps his arm around the chair’s back, and rests his hand on Akaashi’s shoulder, his thumb stroking his cheek gently.

“How ya holdin’ up, babe?”

“I’m fine. Resting from dinner. It’s nice to just sit down here and watch people, with just the two of us,” he says so only Osamu can hear. But it’s not like there’s anyone left sitting at the table; every one of their table mates have since vacated to either dance or haunt the open bar.

“Yeah. That was a beautiful wedding. Food was fuckin’ delicious too.”

Akaashi chuckles a bit. “It’s so weird to hear you cuss.”

“Hey, I can’t be on Good Dad mode all the time.”

“How ‘bout tonight?” the shorter man teases, in a low and smooth voice. Suggestive. “Will you still be on Good Dad mode?”

Osamu looks down at his boyfriend with narrowed eyes in mock suspicion, but he can’t quite pull it off with the titillating smirk plastered on his lips. “Yer gonna drive me crazy, Keiji. But just remindin’ ya that we only have one hotel room for you, Hina, and I.”

Akaashi chuckles, poking Osamu’s side. “I know, jerk. Save it for when we get back home.”

“Yes sir! Looking forward to it, sir!”

The music slows down gradually from dance music, to slower pop music, to full on love ballads from the live band. Everyone on the dancefloor grabs a partner, and the newlyweds also saunter over to join their guests in the slowdance.

The lights dim a bit, and the singer croons into her mic.

“Care for a dance?” Osamu whispers into Akaashi’s warm ear.

“Yes please.”

The song is a bit cheesy and indulgent, but fuck, Akaashi is so in love he can’t bring himself to feel embarrassed.

_Highway run_

_Into the midnight sun_

_Wheels go round and round_

_You're on my mind_

_Restless hearts_

_Sleep alone tonight_

_Sendin' all my love_

_Along the wire_

Osamu pulls him towards the dancefloor by the hand, unbuttoning the top buttons of his inner shirt a bit. They find an empty enough spot to the side.

_They say that the road_

_Ain't no place to start a family_

_Right down the line_

_It's been you and me_

_And lovin' a music man_

_Ain't always what it's supposed to be_

_Oh girl, you stand by me_

_I'm forever yours, faithfully_

They both pull each other closer, and press their foreheads, then noses, then lips together. Akaashi thinks he hears Bokuto and Atsumu catcall them and whoop from behind, but he can’t really tell. He’s too occupied, in his own world with Osamu.

_And being apart ain't easy on this love affair_

_Two strangers learn to fall in love again_

_I get the joy_

_Of rediscovering you_

Akaashi leans further into Osamu, hugging and swaying.

_Oh girl, you stand by me_

_I'm forever yours, faithfully_

They feel someone small bump against their legs, and it’s Hina. She looks up at them with a wide, gap-toothed smile. Osamu bends down and lets her ride his strong shoulders, and they continue their swaying. The little girl rests her forearms and hands on her dad’s head, squirming a bit but still behaving.

“I love you,” Akaashi breathes out, looking into his boyfriend’s eyes. “So much. More than anything.”

“I love you ya, Keiji. I really, really love ya.”

* * *

The bubble pops soon enough, of course.

When Akaashi gets back to the office the next week, he’s immediately called into a meeting with the editorial board. A few other editors and writers are also called in.

Taking a seat, he’s a bit nervous. They only really call meetings like this when big decisions are being made. Fujiko-san, the editor in chief, turns on her laptop and cuts to the chase.

“Me and the other senior editors have been discussing assignments,” she says, a bit distracted with opening up the relevant docs. “Well, re-assignments, really. As in, on-ground assignments.”

He’s been here… only a year now. His mind immediately goes into overdrive. Assignments? _Re-_ assignments? Has he actually not been doing a good enough job, that they want to ship him back to Tokyo? That profile they ran on Kageyama Tobio a month ago earned him a lot of praise from the board… 

“We’re going to be doing a bit of reshuffling to spread out and expand the team. Here, my doc is up. Shion, how do you feel about Tokyo?”

Shion perks up and gasps. “Yes. No questions asked, oh my God.”

Fujiko-san smiles, in that cool, detached way of hers. “Good. This year’s V. League Division 1 tournaments will be held there later this year, and I think you’d be a good fit with the team of writers for covering the season. We’re planning on sending you there for a few months, exchanging with a Tokyo writer we’re bringing over here.”

She pauses and types a few things down before continuing. “Minori, we’re thinking of sending you to Los Angeles for a year. Lots of Japanese and Japanese-American athletes over there, and we’ve kind of been neglectful about covering stories like that. You have lots of experience as an editor, so we’ll entrust you to form a team of writers for that. Maybe two or three?”

Minori also gasps and starts to tear up, nodding. “Of course! I’ll get back to you with a list, Fujiko-san.”

“Hey! Wait – why am I just going to Tokyo and Minori-san gets to go all the way across the globe?!” Shion whines, but it’s only half hearted. Akaashi knows Shion has been gunning for a Tokyo reassignment all year.

Fujiko-san continues smoothly, fixing her glasses. An excited grin blooms on her face. “Now, Akaashi. I know you just got to Kobe so it’s a bit unusual to re-assign you somewhere else again so soon. But I think this is a perfect fit for you, all your work so far has been absolutely incredible.”

Akaashi is… not sure how to feel. The way he’s being built up feels like it’s going to be a promotion, which he would’ve accepted anyways even before listening to the terms – if this were the Akaashi from a year ago. But he has Osamu now. And Hina. His hands shake a bit under the desk.

Please be somewhere like Osaka, or Kyoto. Hell, he’ll even take Tokyo. Somewhere bearable, somewhere a train ride away. Somewhere not five hundred miles away.

“London, for two years,” she says. “For the buildup to the Olympics, and of course the games themselves. Not bad, huh? I’ll also be asking you to form your own team of writers. The thing is, we’d like to send you over there ASAP.”

More like five thousand miles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can't help but always add a bit of angst to my stories, sorry! also, faithfully by journey is THE cheesiest most romantic song in the world, change my mind. i eat it up


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this world the summer 202X olympics take place in london, just run with it!

He says yes. Of _course_ he says yes. It’s one of those offers that come very rarely, that he’d be stupid to refuse. Any writer would murder for this kind of assignment. Fujiko-san even assured him that his lodging and flights would be accounted for, and that he’d be given a food stipend on top of his salary. His brain only somewhat registers all these details – most of it flies over his head.

It’s almost offensive how good the offer is.

He goes home that night, collapsing straight into bed, forgetting to text Osamu that he got home safely. Akaashi has _so_ much to do: first of all, pack of course. Clean his apartment. Check if his passport hasn’t expired yet (God, he hopes it hasn’t). Come up with a team of writers. But the most immediate thing on his mind is breaking it to Osamu and Hina, and he’s not looking forward to _that._ It’s not that he thinks that his boyfriend will be angry or begrudging – the opposite, in fact. He’ll be over the moon about Akaashi’s second promotion in the span of the year, and will probably even help him pack and everything, to make sure everything’s in order before he flies to London on a one-way ticket in a month.

A _month._

They had barely begun their relationship and now Akaashi is moving away, for two whole years. He tries to tell himself two years is a short time – it’s only two-thirds of his high school years, it’s only twice the amount of time he’s been in Hyogo so far. But then he remembers how many years old Hina is – four – and _two years_ is already half of how long she’s been alive. And in _two years_ she’ll be six, old enough to be running around without the need for Osamu to follow her around constantly. Old enough to ride a bike down the road, old enough to dress herself.

It’s not that he’s dreading the assignment to London. There’s a wealth of experience he’ll gain just by being out of Japan. But he’s dreading the things he’ll miss out on, the things he won’t get to see for himself for the first time, at home.

The next morning, he asks Osamu if he could swing by Onigiri Miya before lunchtime. Akaashi makes an excuse at work that he’s just arranging his travel documents and will be coming in a bit later that afternoon.

“Did ya get home okay last night, babe?” Osamu asks now, tying the dark blue apron around his waist.

“Yeah. I did. Sorry I didn’t text. Uh.”

He’s passed a glass of barley tea. “You okay, Keiji?”

Akaashi sighs, his brows drawn together tightly. He hangs up his coat up on the hook, and walks towards his boyfriend. Then he pulls Osamu into a tight hug.

“Babe? I love you too?” the taller man says, a bit confused at the sudden (but not unwelcome) display of affection.

“They’re promoting me,” he says, muffled into Osamu’s t-shirt. “Again. And they’re sending me to London.”

He pries Akaashi off of him in excitement and awe. “Wait – that’s a good thing, right? That’s – fuck! That’s amazing, Keiji!”

The shorter man nods, but his face is still twisted up, and his jaw is quivering. “It’s a damn _amazing_ promotion, Osamu. They want me to help cover the Olympics for a series of features for the magazine. But London. It’s a two year assignment.”

“Please don’t tell me you said no. That’s incredible.”

“I accepted it on the spot,” Akaashi confirms. “Osamu, listen. I leave in a month.”

“Do you need help packing? I can take some time off, maybe a few days, to help you get situated?”

Of course Osamu reacts without a drop of apprehensiveness or confusion. Of course his knee jerk reaction is to drop everything and help make it happen.

Akaashi laughs, a bit humorlessly. “I leave in a month,” he repeats. “It’s going to be two years away from you and Hina. I need to know, tell me the truth for my peace of mind. Is this something that you’re okay with? Because if it’s not–”

“Ya know that ya don’t need my permission, Keiji.”

“That’s not what I mean. Osamu, will you wait? Will Hina wait? I thought about it last night. By the time I come home, she’ll be… so different. She’ll have all these milestones and so will you. And I’m going to miss out on all of it. Is that something you’re okay with?”

Osamu’s own eyebrows scrunch together, his initial giddiness shedding a bit. His hands rest lightly on Akaashi’s shoulders. “Ya know I’d never keep you away from what ya deserve, what you’ve worked so hard on. I’d support ya, one hundred percent, and I know Hina will too even if she won’t be able to understand everythin’ yet.”

“I’ve never been in a long-distance relationship before. Much less a long-distance relationship with a little kid involved. I’m way out of my element here – it’s like I’m being pushed off a cliff. Maybe for the time being, while I’m away, we could. Uh. Take a break–”

  
  
“Keiji–”

“We could take a break so it’s easier on all of us, especially Hina. And then when I come home we can play it by ear, take it from there,” Akaashi suggests, quietly. Against his will. This is the most straightforward solution he could think of, to minimize the hurt and uncertainty. “But a lot will change in two years, Osamu. Especially if we’re apart.”

“I thought ya said ya understood that I didn’t want people in and out of mine or Hina’s life,” the taller man says, hurt. “Is splitting up– is that what ya really want?”

A few, hot tears fall out of Akaashi’s eyes. He tries to blink them away to no avail. “It’s the last thing I want. The _very last thing_ , Osamu _._ But it’s the only preventive measure I could think of.”

Osamu gently wipes his boyfriend’s tears away with his rough thumb. “Preventive measure? Ya think just because yer away, Hina and I will just shrug and move on with our lives? Just forget about ya like we won’t miss you everyday, viciously? Hell, I miss you _already_ , Keiji. Hina will be doing a lot of growing up, sure. Yer not wrong, and I’d love for ya to be home to see it. But I’d rather ya be in our lives, even if it’s over video calls and emails for a bit, rather than be completely out of it.”

“Osamu…”

“What did I say, Keiji? I love ya. Hina loves ya. A few pesky miles between us won’t ever change that.”

“So you’ll wait?” Akaashi has to ask. “For me?”

“I will, Keiji. I’d wait forever. It won’t be easy, but I will.”

* * *

True to his promise, Osamu takes a few days off to help Akaashi clean his apartment and pack. It’s overwhelming, trying to think about what to include in your luggage when you’re moving away for two whole _years_. 

There’s the clothes of course: the winter coats, the rain jackets, the sweaters, and the cardigans. He has an abundance of them, thankfully. Osamu even ‘donates’ some of his old sweatshirts and loungewear for him to bring, as a sweet keepsake (even if they fall off Akaashi’s much slighter frame a bit). He figures he doesn’t need to try and pack his whole wardrobe into the already cramped suitcase, he’ll have plenty of time in London to do more shopping for non-essentials. So he spends plenty of time packing, changing his mind about what to bring, unpacking, then packing again. His back groans in protest, and Osamu gives him a heavenly massage.

In the next two weeks, Akaashi crushes his pre-London to-do list with relative ease, surprisingly, all thanks to his boyfriend’s help. He submits the list of writers he’d like to bring with him, as the first order of business to give everyone ample time to prepare. Fujiko-san swiftly approves over email, and assures him that bringing the writers over isn’t as urgent, and they’ll be given a bit more time to prepare. It’s only him that needs to be sent over a bit earlier, so he can touch base and rub elbows with the editorial team of the London-based sister magazine that he’ll be working closely with.

On the couch, the two of them spend hours ogling the virtual floor guide of the flat Akaashi will be moving into with his team. It’s a charming little three bedroom two bathroom townhouse, on the outskirts of the city, with a red brick facade and black accents. In his mind, he’s already called dibs on the bedroom that’s overlooking the foyer.

The elephant in the room is Hina. It’s not that they’re putting off breaking the news to her just for the sake of it. They spend many nights trying to figure out an easy way on how to tell her that Akaashi won’t be visiting for two whole years. But there is no easy way. Osamu suggests they wait a bit at least a few weeks, lest Hina be down and moody for the whole month before Akaashi flies off.

Nevertheless, Akaashi makes an effort to spend twice as much time with both of them, and Osamu takes him out on twice as many dates. They walk hand in hand together at the park, and share coffees together in their favorite cafes. They make love. It’s not strained, but there’s still a slight cloud of bittersweetness casting a shadow over them. Their movements aren’t rushed, either, but they’re a bit more desperate, a bit more ardent. 

When Akaashi has dinner over at their apartment (which is almost everyday, now), Osamu cooks up the most delicious meals. Hina is surprised but doesn’t complain, happily gobbling up whatever’s in front of her. The editor spends a lot of time just watching and gazing at her from across the table, trying to memorize what she looks like in his moment, happy and carefree. In two years, will she still have the cute baby fat in her cheeks? Will she still like having her dark hair done up in pigtails, or will she prefer braids? How tall will she get? Akaashi archives the image of her sitting at the table at her usual spot in his mind like a snapshot.

One night during dinner, halfway through the month, Osamu clears his throat slightly and looks at his boyfriend. Ah. They’ve decided that now is as good of a time as ever to talk about it as a family (... family? Since when did he start using that word so casually?). Hina doesn’t catch her dad giving Akaashi a look, and just keeps eating and peeling her orange.

“Hina, I have some important news,” Akaashi says gently, reaching over to take her hand and get her attention.

“Whuzzat?” she asks curiously, chewing on an orange segment. Some juice drips down her chin, and Osamu also leans forward to wipe it away with a napkin.

“I… “ he looks at his boyfriend at a loss, the words dissipating off his tongue. The taller man nods encouragingly, with a small, fond smile. “I’ll be going away for a bit, to another country. The important people at my work are sending me away.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Huh? Why? Did Keiji do something bad?”

So he might’ve worded it a bit drastically. Osamu chuckles a bit and steps in. “No, baby. It’s the opposite. Keiji was doing such a good job that his boss – the important person – wants to give him a new challenge.”

“Ooooh. So I won’t see ya next week?”

Akaashi starts to feel a lump in his throat form. “Hina,” he says, almost a whisper. “Hina. I can keep visiting you next week, and the week after that one, but not after that anymore. I won’t be able to visit for two years.”

She stares at him, her little brain trying to process the information. But she can tell it’s not happy news, at least for her. “Two years? I’ll be a grown up,” Hina says, her lips wobbling.

Osamu strokes her hair, comforting his baby. “Keiji will be home after two years, Hina. He’s just takin’ a trip away for a little while.”

Fat tears begin to run down her cheeks. Akaashi follows suit not long after.

“Hina, baby. I’m not going away forever, okay? I’ll still call you and Dad every single day, like I do when I can’t come over to dinner sometimes. I’ll send you gifts, for your birthday, for Valentine’s day, for Christmas. And I’ll be back home before you know it.”

Hina keeps wailing and whining quietly, still trying to understand. Everyone’s hearts hurt. Akaashi squeezes the girl’s chubby hands clasped in his own. “You’ll do so much, baby, that you won’t even notice I’m away. You’ll grow so tall, do so well in school, play with your friends. And you’ll have Dad, who loves you so much.”

“Keiji’s absolutely right. He’ll work hard to come home as soon as he can, and so will you because you’re a good girl,” Osamu adds quietly.

“Where are you going? I wanna go with you,” Hina sniffles. “I’ll be a good girl, promise. I won’t cry!”

“Baby, you know where London is? It’s a long way away, so I don’t think I can take you. But I know you’re a good girl. Besides, are you going to leave your dad all alone here at home? He’ll be so lonely,” Akaashi chuckles a little bit, stealing a glance at Osamu.

“Corgi?” she asks in a small voice. Both men smile.

“Yes, there are corgis in London. The Queen has pet corgis,” the editor continues.

“Hina, baby. Keiji loves ya okay? I love ya too, more than anything. He’s not leaving because he doesn’t love you, or because he won’t miss you. It’s the opposite. But when he comes back, he’ll be an even better Papa to ya, don’t ya think? He’ll be so much cooler and smarter, and he can even teach us English, isn’t that great?”

_Papa?_ Another round of tears threaten to fall down Akaashi’s face. He decides he likes the ring to it. He takes Osamu’s hand in his own, and laces their fingers together.

“Your dad’s right. I love you, Hina. I promise to be the best Papa that I can be to you, but will you be able to wait patiently a little bit for when I can come back home?” he requests.

The little girl is just silent for a few minutes, but still continues to cry, her lower lip jutting out and trembling. Her palms still rest in Akaashi’s own. Then, she nods ever so slightly, the action almost missable.

“‘Kay,” she utters, after some silence. “I’ll try.”

Osamu pulls all of them into a tight hug, and lets her sleep tucked between the two of them that night.

* * *

Akaashi kind of hates how early in the morning his flight is – the sun hasn’t even come up yet. Number one, because he’s simply. Not. A. Morning. Person. Number two, it’s because he needs to wake up at an ungodly hour to make it to the airport in time. Number three, because Hina is half-asleep and grumpy against Osamu’s shoulder where he’s holding her up.

He double checks his neat little plastic envelope with all his travel documents. Passport, check. Printed out plane tickets, three copies (just in case – he’s a bit paranoid like that), check. Other important stuff like his London address, the number of the person picking him up, check, and check. 

They’re standing by the main entrance; this is the furthest Osamu and Hina are able to go. He continuously strokes his daughter’s back, trying to calm her grumbling. Akaashi kneels down to check if both his luggages are locked and secure.

“Well, everything seems ready to go. But I swear, if I forgot anything…. please mail it to me right away.”

The taller man chuckles and loosely salutes with his free hand. “Yessir.”

“Osamu,” Akaashi says with a yawn, standing back up. “Is she okay?”

“Am okay,” Hina mumbles herself, twisting around to face her Papa. Osamu almost loses his balance, and decides to just put her down on the floor. She’s getting way too big and heavy to be carried around. “Hungry.”

The editor digs a granola bar from his jacket’s pocket, and hands it to her. “Here, baby. You should eat this.”

She takes it gingerly and rips the foil package open, crumbs falling to the floor a bit. She munches on it as best as she can, her mood improving.

“You have the onigiri I made for ya, right? You didn’t leave it in the car?”

“It’s in my bag, yeah. So it won’t get cold right away,” Akaashi confirms, patting the backpack slung behind him.

“Good.”

They stand around for a while, enjoying the cool air. He checks his watch – he should be heading in any minute now.

“I love you,” Osamu continues, reaching out to hold Akaashi’s hand.

“I love you too, ‘Samu,” he sighs fondly. But he can’t wait around by the entrance forever. “I should head in.”

“Right– yeah. Hina, time to say goodbye to Papa, okay?”

The little girl, only barely halfway through the granola bar, looks up with sleepy eyes and a big frown. “Paapaaa.”

Akaashi pulls her into a tight, awkwardly positioned hug. “Bye bye Hina, for now. Papa loves you so, so, so much. Be a good girl, for me?”

“‘Kay,” she mumbles into his hair. “I love ya.”

“I love you,” he repeats. “I’ll call everyday, promise. I’ll miss you everyday, too.”

She doesn’t say anything, just starts whining and sniffling, refusing to let Akaashi go. Osamu eventually has to pull her away to let his boyfriend stand back up, and she starts to wail and throw a fit when her dad carries her again.  
  


“Don’t go, Papa! Don’t go!” she cries. A few people look at them with sad smiles.

“Hina, shhh. It’ll be okay,” the taller man ressures, stroking her head and wiping her tears. “Papa will be home soon.”

Akaashi steps closer and envelopes both of them.

“Osamu, bye for now. I love you,” he says, into his boyfriend’s neck. He smells like his usual minty shampoo and fresh linen, plus a bit like their bed. Another thing the shorter man does his best to archive in his mind. “I’ll miss you. Like crazy.”

Osamu bends down and slots their lips together in a dry but full kiss. “Bye for now, babe. I’ll think of you everyday. _Everyday._ You’re going to kill it in London, I know it.”

“You’re perfect. How did I get so lucky?” asks Akaashi rhetorically, staring into his boyfriend’s eyes. “I’ll think about you and Hina everyday, too. Don’t doubt it.”

On Osamu’s shoulder Hina has quieted down a bit, tired and sleepy. The shorter man leans over to take her hand, and tiptoes to kiss both her cheeks and her forehead. “I gotta go, for real now, baby. I’ll call you as soon as I can, even if I wake Dad up, okay? I love you, Hina.”

She nods quietly, and his boyfriend assures him that it’ll be okay, that she’ll be okay. He can’t afford to stick around until her bad mood disappears, unfortunately. It’s like pulling a bandaid off.

Akaashi steps back and takes both his rolling luggage in his hands, looking at his wonderful family once more before he has to turn around the other way. He gives himself three seconds.

One. Osamu is giving him the biggest, most handsome smile, waving Akaashi off with his free hand.

Two. Hina cranes her head around, staring back at him wistfully, but no longer wailing. She starts to wave, herself.

Three. He sees some tears fall down his boyfriend’s face, the love of his life, as he shouts goodbye.

“Later, Keiji! I love you!”

Akaashi spins around before he can change his mind and run back to them. “I love you, too,” he whispers into his scarf, entering the automatic doors of the airport.

* * *

London is cold. Really cold, and rainy. He’s not sure what he expected, but Akaashi thanks himself for prioritizing packing his jackets and coats.

He hit the ground running; as soon as he landed (after calling Osamu and Hina, of course), his mobile calendar and email were both immediately filled with meetings and business lunches. Akaashi meets with all kinds of people, just within his first month. 

There’s the editorial team, who all seem very _British_ , but still engaging and welcoming. They show him around the city, pointing out their favorite pubs and boulangeries, which he’s eternally grateful for. There’s one just down his street that has the most buttery croissants that pair perfectly with the flat white he has every morning. At this point, the barista recognizes him and treats him like a regular, despite his shoddy (but rapidly improving English). 

His next door neighbor, an old Filipino lady who lives alone with her pet birds invites him to share dinner with her all the time. It feels nice to have a home cooked meal regularly, after getting so used to it with Osamu back in Japan. She cooks just as much as he does, if not even more – the smell of savory stews always waft through the air, into the street. It’s a pleasant smell that makes his stomach rumble with anticipation.

There are the usual people who he sees on his morning jogs, too. There’s a lady with a cute cocker spaniel, a couple who always nod in greeting, and the old man who’s always sitting on the bench with a fat cigar.

His flat is fully furnished when he gets there, thank God. It’s empty and quiet, of course, as Akaashi is its only inhabitant for now, for a whole two months. He calls Osamu and Hina everyday, true to his promise. At first, the little girl is a bit hesitant and taciturn on call, but she quickly lightens up and ‘forgives’ her Papa the more they talk. He gives them a tour around the flat, down his street, and even the shops a few minute’s walk away. Both Dad and daughter enjoy these little informal tours a lot.

The time difference is a bit of a challenge. Akaashi makes it a point to always call in the morning, at around eight or nine AM his time, just in time for Osamu and Hina’s dinner. The editor props his phone up against an empty coffee mug while he has his breakfast, so they can all eat together at a virtual table.

And Osamu doesn’t slack on sending his own updates and pictures, too. Akaashi receives a picture (or ten) of Hina everyday before she’s off to school. He’s also sent pictures of the busy shop during lunch time rushes, and even of Kuroo, Bokuto, and Tsukishima during that one time they all drove down to Kobe to hang out with Osamu to keep him company.

(“I’m going to have your boyfriend all to myself and I’m going to adopt your daughter,” Bokuto threatens over the phone with an uncharacteristically serious tone.

Kuroo groans, laughing. “Isn’t one Miya enough for you?”)

Akaashi saves all of them onto his phone, then onto his laptop when he gets the notification that he’s almost out of storage.

But those months pass by like lightning, that he barely notices it with how busy he is, running around all over the city. His ragtag team of writers eventually arrive one by one, all happy and excited to be there.

And then, the real work begins.

* * *

Months pass.

* * *

“I’m expanding to Tokyo, the investor finally emailed me back!” Osamu exclaims over the phone. It’s just the two of them talking now, now that Hina has gone to sleep. Akaashi’s on the tube, talking into the microphone of his earphones.

“So happy for you, Osamu, you deserve it,” the editor smiles. “I know how hard you’ve been working these past months.”

“I can barely rest yet, but yeah. Thank you babe. Kuroo and the rest offered to help me out, as long as they get paid in onigiri,” he laughs.

“Nice of them. But you better be ready, they all eat like pigs. Especially Bokuto.”

Akaashi’s day is packed. He’s meeting with a few Japanese athletes attending the qualifying tryouts for Team GB before lunch, and after, has to finish up a few freelance pitches for a few fiction journals he’s been writing for. Then even later, he has another meeting thinly veiled as a friendly dinner with someone on the editorial team.

“How’s everything, Keiji? They’re not overworkin’ ya, are they?”

“Oh, everything’s good. Just different. This is my dream job and everything is… fast. There’s always something new everyday. But I won’t lie, it’s tiring.”

Osamu smiles gently, and Akaashi can feel his fondness even through the pixelated call, thanks to the poor signal.

“I’m always rootin’ for ya.”

“I love you so much.”

* * *

Hina grows a whole four inches taller, suddenly, that her dad has to panic and buy her virtually a brand new wardrobe.

Osamu whines about how she’s growing too much, and Akaashi laughs, remembering the time he had to comfort his boyfriend on Hina’s first day of school.

* * *

More months pass.

* * *

“This is a great profile, Akaashi-san, really sharp. Just what we’ve been needing.”

Akaashi flushes a bit, wringing his fingers together. Fujiko-san smiles over the call. He’s been in charge of writing profiles for some UK-based Asian athletes who took part in past Special Olympic games. The series of articles took him all over the country, in a whirlwind of hotel bookings, taxi rides, and strange British confectioneries everyone keeps offering him.

“Thank you, Fujiko-san. That means a lot.”

“I’ve been talking with the editors over there, too. They love you. Oscar – the head sports writer over there, you _have_ met him, right? He has nothing but praise for you and your team.”

“Well…”

The lady editor laughs. “You’re so humble. Assigning you there has been one of my best decisions. What else do you have planned, so I can let the team here know too?”

Akaashi pulls out his planner and flips to the relevant page. “Well, I’m planning to assign Naomi to write more about the Japanese athletes that have made it to the national team here. Sato and Asuka want to do something about football culture here. I don’t know a lot about that so I’m letting them do some preliminary research – they should get back to me about that tomorrow. Then for me, I’d like to do a couple of articles about the judo scene here in London. On top of my other editor duties, of course.”

“Sounds perfect. Don’t stretch yourself too thin, okay?”

“Will do,” the man says, taking a sip of tea.

* * *

Akaashi thanks his lucky stars he’s home, and not on the tube, or God forbid, in an important meeting, when Osamu sends him a series of extremely risque photos of himself.

_Enjoy_ , his infuriating, attractive, perfect, absolutely perfect boyfriend texts.

The first few are pictures of him, fresh out of the shower, with him showing off his chiseled abs. His arms also look delectable. Has he been working out more?

Akaashi scrolls down a bit more. And, _oh_. That’s definitely his dick, creating a prominent bulge underneath Osamu’s thin gray boxers. There’s a picture from the side, from the top, and even from the bottom. He’s very generous with his angles, and the editor’s mouth waters involuntarily.

Then there’s a picture of him completely in the nude, with his free hand gripping his… 

Akaashi locks his phone, taking a deep breath to steady himself. They’ve had to get creative with their sex life because of all the hurdles – the time difference, and both their lack of privacy for the most part. They send each other pictures regularly, and make it a point to have phone sex when they can.

He unlocks his phone again, and sees there’s a new message.

_I sent you something, it should be there by now. Check your mailbox!_

So Akaashi does. It’s a nondescript box, and when he opens it up in the privacy of his own bedroom, he can’t help but hit the call button immediately.

“So ya like it?” Osamu asks, his voice low.

“Fuck, ‘Samu. I love it, are you free tonight?”

He picks up the sleek, long vibrator, rolling it around in his hand. Reading the box, he sees that one of the selling features is... an app? ‘Let your partner pleasure you, even from afar with ten different settings,’ it reads. ‘Download the app and have some fun!’

Akaashi gulps, feeling himself getting hard in his sweats. Fuck, thank God he has nothing else planned for the day.

“Sure am,” Osamu chuckles. “Lemme just download the app. Keiji, I’m gonna blow yer mind.”

* * *

A year passes. Work picks up the closer the games get.

* * *

Hina moves up a grade with flying colors, and Osamu cries like a baby. Akaashi sends her chocolates, a new backpack, and some clothes to celebrate.

* * *

“Am sick, Papa,” she whines on call. “Dad says it’s a fever.”

Akaashi sighs, worriedly, unable to concentrate on editing the article. “Well, it is flu season. Are you feeling better or worse than yesterday?”

“Worse,” she groans, rolling around in bed. Poor thing.

“Here baby, made you some soup,” he hears Osamu say from somewhere else in the room. “Your favorite. But you have to sit up a bit, ‘kay?”

“Osamu, do you want me to send anything? Anything to make her feel better?” Akaashi feels a bit helpless with how far away he has to be from them. He wishes he could do more than just call and tell her it’ll pass soon.

His boyfriend sighs, picking up the phone and facing the camera towards himself. “Nah,” he says quietly, watching Hina sip her soup carefully. “I appreciate it, though, Keiji. But can I call ya back? Need to make sure she’s okay first.”

Akaashi understands, but his heart sinks a bit. There’s really not much he can do but offer his words, but he knows that sometimes, even that’s not enough. “Okay, Osamu. Goodnight to you and Hina. I love you.”

“Love ya too. Night.”

* * *

“So, Hina, did you like your gift?” Akaashi asks excitedly. “You’re five years old now, no longer a baby!”

“Still a baby,” Osamu grumbles, helping her pack away the torn up gift wrap.

She holds up the journal that Akaashi had sent. It’s a beautiful leather one with a pretty gold lock, one that he had spotted at a bookstore a few weeks back. On the cover and spine are engraved illustrations of vines and flowers. Hina loves it.

“I want you to write a lot in it, okay? Write anything you want.”

“Thank you Papa,” she grins. Her smile still has a few gaps, but it just adds to her cuteness.

They blow out her cake on call; Osamu makes the same strawberry shortcake as the year before, only now there are five candles lodged into the icing. Akaashi has his own strawberry shortcake, a miniature one bought from the bakery down the road. Probably not as good as his boyfriend’s, though.

“Happy birthday dear Hina,” the two in Japan sing, as off key and off tempo as the year before.

“Happy birthday to you!” he continues in London.

* * *

He’s all over the place. The Olympics are in full swing, and he and his whole team have checked into a hotel nearer the village. They’re not reporters or journalists, so it’s not like they need to be on site everyday, but it still helps to be closer by.

Days bleed into each other, and Akaashi being the head editor of their team, barely gets any sleep for almost… what? A whole month? He runs on coffee and fumes. And pressure. The games themselves are only sixteen days, but he has too many people to interview, too many games to watch, too many places to be.

He breathes a sigh of (temporary) relief when he sees Bokuto across the court, in a Team Japan jersey, practicing his serves.

“Bokuto-san!” he calls out.

His longtime friend yells and runs towards him. They hug, not having seen each other since Akaashi left for London. “I was so worried our schedules wouldn’t match up, Akaashi!”

“How’s the team? I’m actually assigned to interview you guys real quick, I hope your manager told you.”

“Well, we’re going to win, that’s for sure!” his friend announces proudly. “And yeah! Here, lemme just call the others. So we can sit down over here.”

Akaashi spots a lot of familiar faces from high school, some people he’s played against himself all those years ago. He smiles wistfully, a strange rueful bubble forming in his chest. They all recognize him and greet him, pat him on the back, ask how he’s been doing. He explains the usual: he’s actually been based in London for the past year and a half, writing and editing for a sports magazine.

After the interview, Atsumu and Bokuto stick around a bit more to catch up.

“My brother is absolutely crazy about ya, Keiji,” the blonde groans. “Won’t stop talkin’ about how much he misses ya and needs ya. But I’m sure ya know that.”

“I do, but it’s nice to know from a third party,” Akaashi chuckles.

“You’re going home soon, right? Well, soon enough. You said you’ve been here for more than a year?” asks Bokuto. “Everyone back home misses you, and they’ll kill me for being able to see you first.”

He counts the months in his head. “Yeah. A year and three months now. But I haven’t discussed anything about coming back yet with my boss back in Japan, probably still too early for that. We’re still knee deep in covering the games, so it’s understandable.”

* * *

> From: Osamu <3
> 
> August 4, 8:44 AM
> 
> _Hey, we haven’t called in a few days. I know you’re busy with the Olympics so no worries babe. Just wanted to check in with you._
> 
> _Hina fell off her bike the other day, but nothing serious. She’s off her training wheels._
> 
> _Let me know if you need anything, ok? Call me if you can. Love you, Keiji._

* * *

> To: Osamu <3
> 
> August 6, 1:31 AM
> 
> _Osamu, sorry. I’ve been so busy. The games just ended but I still have a mountain of work to get done. Don’t think I have time to call soon, unfortunately._
> 
> _Is Hina okay? Tell her to be careful and make sure she’s wearing her helmet._
> 
> _I hope we can call soon but I really need to focus right now. Deadlines are going to kill me. Talk soon, love you._

* * *

>   
> From: Osamu <3
> 
> August 9, 9:01 AM
> 
> _How’s work, Keiji?_

* * *

>   
> From: Osamu <3
> 
> August 12, 9:13 AM
> 
> _[Picture attachment of Hina making her own onigiri]_

* * *

> From: Osamu <3
> 
> August 14, 10:48 AM
> 
> _Goodnight, babe. Well, good morning there. You know what I mean. Hina says goodnight/morning, too. She misses you a lot and wants to call._

* * *

> To: Osamu <3
> 
> August 16, 11:36 PM
> 
> _Good morning, Osamu, how are you? A lot has happened. My computer crashed so I had to take it to a repair shop. All the articles were on the cloud (thank god), but it still cost a lot of time. Missed an important deadline, so I haven’t been able to reply. I hope you understand._
> 
> _Laptop is ok now, though. So things are going back to normal, trying to get on the boss’ good side again, but it should pass. I’ve been bringing the team here breakfast every morning if that means anything to them. I’m still finishing up a bunch of articles, before the month ends. After that, I think we can call regularly again._
> 
> _I miss you, dearly. I love you. Tell Hina the same. I haven’t been present, and I feel awful about it._

* * *

> From: Osamu <3
> 
> August 17, 10:48 AM
> 
> _Of course, Keiji. I know you don’t mean to. I’m glad you’re doing better._

* * *

Hina moves up another grade, and her sixth birthday comes along. Akaashi sends a generous box of books in English, as well as some cookbooks for Osamu.

They sing the birthday song again on call, and Akaashi can’t believe it’s the second time in a row he’s been away for her birthday. She looks much taller, her face still chubby but not as babyish anymore.

He watches her and Osamu open up the box. Akaashi also can’t help but notice that his boyfriend looks older too, a bit more tired. The lighting and the bad video quality doesn’t help, of course, but it’s something that catches his attention nonetheless.

* * *

More months pass, and Akaashi nears two whole years in London.

* * *

“You want to extend my contract here?” he asks Fujiko-san, during one of their weekly calls, confirming what he just heard.

“Yes. Well, not me, specifically. The team there actually wants to hire you permanently.”

“Ah.”

She sighs, rubbing her eyes. “I would’ve wanted you to come home. You’re one of our best, you know. But it’s pretty glamorous working in London, better pay and experience. So I understand.”

Akaashi can’t quite keep up. “Wait, I still get to decide, right? If I want to or not?”

“Of course, but isn’t this a no brainer, Akaashi-san? If I were you, I’d accept.”

But he’s already made up his mind, a long time ago. Even since he’s moved here. He smiles and shakes his head. “Fujiko-san, I appreciate it, and I appreciate the generosity of the editorial board here for even considering me in the first place. But,” Akaashi says, inhaling. “I’d like to go home, following our original plan. I’ll email the team here that I’ll be declining. Don’t worry, I’ll CC you in the message.”

* * *

> To: Osamu <3
> 
> March 02, 9:33 PM
> 
> _Boarding now. I’ll see you soon. :)_

* * *

> From: Osamu <3
> 
> March 03, 7:08 AM
> 
> _Me and Hina are just here in the Starbucks nearby waiting for you to land. Can’t wait babe. I feel crazy! Text me when you’re here. Love you._

* * *

> To: Osamu <3
> 
> March 03, 9:55 AM
> 
> _Here!_

* * *

> To: Osamu <3
> 
> March 03, 10:27 AM
> 
> _Got my bags. Where are you?_
> 
> _Never mind. I see you. Look to your left!_

* * *

“Papa!” Hina screams, running towards him. She’s so tall for her age, another thing she’s taken from her father. She tackles him to the ground. Akaashi’s legs feel like jelly from the long, arduous flight, so he stumbles and falls back.

“Hina, oh Hina,” he laughs out, catching his breath and struggling to prop himself up on the ground. She’s sitting on his chest and crying, but this time, they’re happy tears. “I love you, God, I missed you so much, baby.”

Akaashi spots Osamu running towards them, apologizing to the people Hina had crashed into. He bends down and gives his boyfriend a hand.

“Keiji,” he says, at a loss for words. “Come here, fuck, I love you.”

He’s missed Osamu’s embrace. He feels himself tearing up. “Osamu, I’m home. Finally.”

“You are.”

The taller man leans down for a kiss. Hina groans from below them, trying to get Akaashi’s attention back.

Osamu mumbles, “You owe me two years worth of kisses, babe.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you more than that.”

They pile into the the Miya family car, with Hina in the backseat and the two men up front. Akaashi wants nothing more than to have a nice warm meal, care of his boyfriend.

“Please don’t ask me about how everything was,” the editor preempts with a chuckle. “I just want to clock out and not think about work, for like, a year. I have all the time to tell you guys about it after that.”

“Of course, babe. You have a whole three months off, right?”

“Yeah, Fujiko-san didn’t really give me a choice, begging me to rest.”

There’s so much Akaashi wants to do, that his mind races. He wants to visit his and Osamu’s favorite jazz bars and cafes. He wants to walk in the park with Hina, and watch her ride her bike. He wants to have onigiri at the shop again. He wants to head to Tokyo to visit his friends, maybe spend a week or two there. He wants to fuck his boyfriend, hard, all night.

But first, home.

* * *

Akaashi is shaken awake when they arrive at Osamu and Hina’s apartment. They had decided to drive here first instead of his own place, both to spend more time together and so the editor needn’t worry about food and chores so soon after a tiring trip.

“Papa, we’re home,” Hina says from the backseat.

This is more of a home to him than his apartment is, anyways.

Osamu is a bit quiet as he helps unload the luggage from the trunk. He has twice as many suitcases as he did as he left, bringing home his new clothes, gifts, and personal belongings he had collected over the two years.

“You’ll manage?” he asks, watching his boyfriend attempt to carry two at the same time.

Not making eye contact, “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

What’s the deal?

Osamu motions Hina and Akaashi to follow him up the stairs, and uses a free hand to unlock the door.

Akaashi is immediately assaulted with the smell of a freshly cooked dinner, the same smell as the meal his boyfriend had cooked for him on that first night at Onigiri Miya. The living room and kitchen area is dim, only lit by warm candle light.

“What–”

“Keiji, babe, come on, I have to show you something,” Osamu tells him, his voice a bit nervous. “Hina, could you lock the door for me?”

“Sure, Dad.”

His boyfriend leads him into the living room where the little dining table is, and like the perfect gentleman, pulls out a chair for Akaashi to take a seat. Sure enough, on the table is the same dinner: salmon roe, pickled plum, and tuna mayo onigiri. To his right there’s white miso soup, lightly salted edamame, and to his left, nanohana no karashiae.

“Akaashi Keiji,” Osamu says, getting down on one knee next to him. He pulls out a black velvet box from his jacket’s pocket.

“Osamu… I…” he starts, starting to tear up. His boyfriend takes his hand with a smile.

“These two years without you have been difficult, for Hina and I. We missed you everyday, counting the days until you’d be back home with us. But it also made me realize some things. I realized you’re it, for me, Keiji. You’re the love of my life, the one I want to spend forever with. The one I want to raise Hina with, the one I want to wake up to everyday. I realized that I can’t live without you, and that you are one of the best things to happen to me, to this little family of ours.

“I know you just got back, we have a lot to arrange and talk about, but forgive me okay? I couldn't wait any longer. I feel that I’ve been patient enough, don’t you think? I want to steal you away and keep you for myself before your bosses send you away again,” Osamu laughs, with tears in his eyes.

Akaashi hiccups, wiping his own face. “Not gonna happen, won’t let them!” he laughs.

“So. You know what comes next. Akaashi Keiji, marry me?”

Osamu pops the small box open, and the ring that sits in it is simple and understated – just a band of metal with a little gemstone inlaid into the band itself. He slips it onto Akaashi’s left ring finger.

“Yes! Osamu, a million, billion times yes,” Akaashi shouts, tackling his boyfriend – no, fiance down to the floor, giving him kiss after kiss. “I love you so _much_.”

“I love you, Keiji.”

From behind the corner of the hallway leading into the other rooms, the couple hears whooping. It’s Bokuto, Kuroo, and Tsukishima, with Hina, peeking around the corner.

“You guys were here all this time, this is so embarrassing!” the shorter man protests lightly, still lying on top of Osamu.

“Who do you think set all of this up?! Osamu was freaking out, kept texting us if everything was okay and set up while you were driving over here,” Kuroo says, stepping out. “But congrats, ‘Kashi. Welcome home.”

Akaashi looks around him in the familiar aparment, first at his friends who have been his rock for years, who did all this for them.

Then at their daughter who’s now bouncing towards them, undoubtedly to join in on the dogpile. Their daughter who will grow up to be smart, beautiful, strong, but most of all, loved.

Then down at his wonderful fiance, who he would give the world to. Osamu stares up at him, still lying on the ground, like he hung the stars up in the sky.

This is home, right here.

“I’m glad to be back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, i had a lot of fun writing this. <3
> 
> plugging my other ongoing fic, [i spoke about wings (you just flew)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28572279/chapters/70023501), also with some osaaka, but with more angst
> 
> again, feel free to hmu on twitter!

**Author's Note:**

> comments = <3
> 
> twitter is [@msbytwelve](https://twitter.com/msbytwelve). let's chat about osaaka!


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